No One Mourns the Wicked: Vera Claythorne
by Jane Poirot
Summary: How do murderers come to be the people they are?
1. 1914

**1914**

**Disclaimer: All of 'And Then There Were None' belongs to Agatha Christie, including its brilliant characters whose pasts I am depicting! Also, this chapter style (using years as chapters) is a style I borrowed from Elizabeth with an S' wonderful Moulin Rouge! story, Satine: Story of a Courtesan, so kudos to her!**

The sun was setting in the horizon, creating a rainbow of colours all across the sky that were reflected into the ocean blue as Clara Claythorne took a stroll down the beach with her husband of five years, Fred Claythorne.

It seemed as though it were only yesterday the two had first met at the local carnival and Clara damn near killed Fred while playing that shoot-the-ducks game. Fred had been working as a volunteer at that particular booth when Clara stepped up to play. She was so enticed by his rugged good looks, she completely messed up her aim and nearly shot Fred. Likewise, Fred had been so captivated by Clara's beauty, he had forgotten to step out of the way when Clara began to shoot and wasn't even aware she had taken a shot until he felt something graze his ear. Clara had felt so embarrassed she offered to take him out to dinner to make it up to him. The two started seeing each other many times over the course of the summer and fell in love, resulting in a marriage proposal from Fred on a late August afternoon. The marriage caused a bit of a scandal, as they were only eighteen, and teenagers only married nowadays if the girl was in trouble, but in time, their neighbours came around to accept that they were simply in love. They had barely been married for more than a year when Clara became pregnant with their first child, a girl named Evelyn. Now two years later, they were expecting their second child, and happily in love.

"It's quite warm for a March day," spoke up Fred.

"Yes, it is," nodded Clara. "And it's the Ides of March, too." She inhaled the salty sea air and said whimsically, "This beach brings back so many memories from that fateful night months ago."

"Ah yes," said Fred. "I recall the beautiful moment we shared on this beach that will very soon result in another beautiful moment, if my plan goes correctly." He rubbed Clara's pregnant belly happily.

"Are you _sure_ a walk on the beach will help speed things up?" asked Clara. "What if this doesn't work? What if something's wrong with the baby?"

"Clara, you're only two days overdue," said Fred. "I'm sure the baby's just fine. I've just heard that taking a walk wakes up the baby and reminds it that it's time to be born. While we wait, let's talk about names. I like the name Anthony for a boy and Charity for a girl."

"Those are nice names, yes, but they don't really fit in with the _rhythm_ of Claythorne," said Clara. "What about Joseph for a boy and Ann for a girl?"

"No," said Fred, shaking his head. "Those sound a bit too plain. I don't want our second child to have an ordinary name, yet I don't want them to have an extravagant name either. Are there any other plants or herbs you like that you could name it after if it's a girl, which was how you came to name Evelyn?"

"I like Lavender and Hazel," mused Clara. "But I don't want to name our second child after a plant or herb; otherwise, our children will be the laughing stocks amongst the other children!"

"All right…how about the name of a quality that's important to you?" suggested Fred.

"Actually, I sort of like that suggestion," said Clara. "I guess I'll think up a quality name for if it's a girl, but there aren't too many quality names for boys…if it's a boy, I suppose I'll name him Matthew, after my great-grandfather." She winced. "Ah, my back aches."

"Is it time, dearest?" asked Fred quickly.

"It _might_ be, but I can't be entirely _sure,_" said Clara. "Remember when we thought I was in labour last week, but it turned out to just be a false alarm? I want to wait a little bit first; if it doesn't go away after ten minutes, we'll go home and call up my friend."

"I'm still not crazy about you wanting to have a home birth," said Fred. "What if something happens to you or the baby? There have been cases of women and children dying in childbirth at home."

"There have also been cases of women and children dying in childbirth at hospitals," said Clara. "I wouldn't want to have any more false alarms and have to go the trouble of finding someone to look after Evelyn for nothing. And besides, my friend has had plenty of experience in delivering babies before."

Clara was now tired of walking, so she decided to stop and rest in the sand (though with great difficulty) and just listen to the waves. She closed her eyes and listened to the waves go in and out, the water roughly splashing against the rocks—

Clara's eyes opened and widened as she felt a sharp pain shoot throughout her abdomen, which was quickly followed by water running down her legs. "FRED!" she screamed.

"Yes?" said Fred quickly.

Clara looked up at Fred and said, "Fred, get me home _now._"

* * *

"Daddy, what's going on in there?" asked little Evelyn Marie Claythorne, who would be turning two in just a month.

Mr. Claythorne stood outside the bedroom he and his wife shared as he said, "Right now, your mother is giving you your brand new brother or sister."

"She doesn't _sound_ very happy about giving it," said Evelyn.

"Just wait out here, dear; I'll tell you when you can come in," said Mr. Claythorne. He pushed the door open, walked in, and sat by his wife's side. "Took your sweet time, didn't you?" snapped Clara.

"Okay, we're in the finishing stages now," said Clara's friend, Delia Mayfair. "I just need you to start pushing. Now push, Mama, push!"

From where Evelyn was standing outside the door, she could see that her mother was _not_ having a great time giving Evelyn her new baby brother or sister. She kept grunting and screaming. Evelyn wasn't really sure _why_ her mother was screaming; wasn't a baby supposed to make people happy? She wasn't standing from an angle where she could properly see the birth; if she did, she would've felt nauseous to the stomach.

"You're doing great; the head is in sight; just keep pushing!" said Delia.

"I _AM_ pushing!" screamed Clara. She continued to push and scream as she squeezed Fred's hand like a stubborn bottle of toothpaste, mostly to make him feel the pain she was feeling.

Evelyn impatiently played with her doll in the hall as the sounds of screaming grew louder and louder. Then suddenly, the screaming stopped, only for another scream to slowly begin—but it wasn't the scream of her mother, _it was the scream of a newborn baby._

Delia held the screaming baby up in her arms and said, "Congratulations, Clara. You and Fred have another lovely little girl."

Beaming, Mr. Claythorne got up, got the pair of scissors, and gently cut the girl's umbilical cord. Right after, he opened up the door and said, "Evelyn? You may come in now and meet your new baby sister."

Evelyn walked in and saw Delia gently laying the baby down on a nearby table, using a washcloth to clean off some of the amniotic fluid. _That's the baby everyone's been making a huge fuss over?_ she thought, disgusted, prompting her to exclaim, "She's ugly!"

"All newborn babies look ugly, dear," said Mr. Claythorne. "In time, she'll come to be a real beauty and you'll appreciate her all the more."

By now, the baby had calmed down a little bit after listening to some familiar voices. She heard a gruff but gentle voice that had spoken to her many times while she was in her cozy home that she had been violently forced out of. She heard a perky voice that had told her about all the adventures they would have together once she was born. These two voices helped her realize she was around people she could trust; however, she still wished to be held, so she whimpered as if to say _Daddy, you're forgetting me._

"I think she wants you to hold her, mister," said Delia. She gently wrapped the baby up in a blanket and put the baby in Mr. Claythorne's arms. He supported the baby with all his strength and looked deep into her eyes, which were wide and curious after all the chaos of the past few hours. "Good evening to you too, little one," chuckled Mr. Claythorne. "Do you see that little girl standing over there? That's your sister, Evelyn, and she'll be the best big sister she can be. Evelyn? Would you like to say something?"

Delia lifted up Evelyn so she could see the baby. Evelyn said, "Hi there. I hope you get prettier!"

Mr. Claythorne chuckled and said, "Well, Clara? Do you think you have the strength to hold her?"

"Of course I do," said Mrs. Claythorne, stretching out her arms.

Mr. Claythorne walked up to the bed and gently placed the baby in Mrs. Claythorne's arms. The baby's curious eyes darted across her mother's face, as though she were carefully examining this woman to make sure that she really was the person who had housed her for nine months.

Mrs. Claythorne smiled and said, "Hello, little girl. It's me, your mummy."

"Is that what her name will be—little girl?" asked Evelyn.

"Of course not, dear," said Mrs. Claythorne. "I've been thinking about the quality I want to name her after, Fred. I've thought about Faith, Virtue, Purity, and Hope, but there's one quality I believe to be the most important of all—truth. Vera is latin for truth, so that'll be her first name: Vera. For a middle name, how about Elizabeth, after your late mother, Fred?"

"My mother would be beaming at the ears if she heard that," said Mr. Claythorne softly.

Mrs. Claythorne smiled at her daughter and said, "Welcome to the world, Vera Elizabeth Claythorne."


	2. 1916

**1916**

"Evie! Wait for me!"

A two-year-old Vera Claythorne raced after her sister, Evelyn, as the two had a race around their backyard, their curls bouncing in the wind. It was a beautiful morning on the last few days of May. Their mother was at the hospital giving birth to Vera's brand new baby brother or sister while the girls' maternal grandmother baby-sat them.

"Beat you!" laughed Evelyn as she tapped the large, towering tree that was just simply Tree as dubbed by the girls.

"No way!" said Vera. "Let's race again!"

"Or not," said Evelyn. "I'm tired. Let's talk about the baby."

"Evie, do you think the baby will _ever_ get here?" asked Vera. "Mummy's been gone since last night."

"Babies arrive when they want to arrive," said Evelyn as she climbed the first two branches. "Mummy started to get ready to have you in the evening, but you didn't come out until late at night."

Vera followed Evelyn and began to climb Tree. "That doesn't sound very long," said Vera. "This baby is taking forever! Will it be a boy or a girl?"

"There's no way to tell until it's born," said Evelyn, who had reached the climbing limit (past the bird house). "Perhaps there will be a way to tell one day, but for now, we can only guess."

"Will I get to play with it lots and lots?" Vera eagerly asked as she, too, reached the limit.

"No, not really," said Evelyn. "I couldn't play with you at all until a few months ago."

At that moment, their Granny called out, "Girls! Get inside the house _now!_"

Evelyn and Vera glanced at each other with excitement and glee. The baby was here! That had to be it! Why else would their granny be calling for them? She didn't get upset when they climbed Tree as long as they didn't go past the bird house, so that had to be it! They quickly climbed down and dashed across the yard and into the house. "Granny, granny, what is it?" they both asked.

Granny had a sad look on her face, so they knew it couldn't have anything to do with the baby—could it? "Girls, that was your mother just now," she said. "Your baby brother won't be coming home. He died. I'm sorry." She brought the two girls in for a hug and hugged each of them tightly.

Vera wasn't quite sure what her Granny meant by 'died'. She had heard once that dying was like going to sleep, yet she had also heard that when people died, they went somewhere else. Perhaps her baby brother had just gone somewhere else for a while? Yes, that was probably it; her baby brother needed somewhere to sleep, so he died and went somewhere else. He'd be back by tonight; she was almost sure of it.

* * *

By the time her parents came home, it was evening, and Vera had been eagerly bouncing on the couch despite her Granny's protests (Evelyn had gone to sleep already). She jumped off and ran up to her parents. "Mummy! Daddy!" she squealed.

"Hey, sweetie," said Mrs. Claythorne as she scooped Vera up and hugged her tightly. Vera peeked over her shoulder to see if Daddy was holding her baby brother.

No such luck.

"Mummy, where is he?" asked Vera.

"Where's whom?" asked Mrs. Claythorne.

"My baby brother," said Vera. "Is he finished dying now?"

"Vera Elizabeth Claythorne!" gasped Granny. "That is no question to ask when you've already been told—"

"It's all right, mother," said Mrs. Claythorne wearily. "She's only two years old; she doesn't know any better. Fred, you explain it to her. I have to go." She put Vera in Mr. Claythorne's arms before going upstairs to her bedroom, her own mother following behind.

"Daddy? Why is Mummy sad?" asked Vera, suddenly worried.

"I take it that Granny didn't properly explain death to you," sighed Mr. Claythorne. He sat her down on the couch and said, "Actually, it's kind of hard to say exactly what death _is._ When someone dies, their body stops working. When someone dies, God decides their time on Earth is up and it is time to join Him in Heaven. Basically, when someone dies, it means they just…stop living and never come back."

It took Vera about a minute to process this before she said: "So…so my baby brother's really dead?"

"Yes, dear," said Mr. Claythorne softly. "He was born two months too early. The doctors did everything they could, but his lungs just weren't strong enough to survive. I'm sorry."

Vera suddenly burst into tears. She buried her head in her father's sleeve and wept, "Dying sounds _awful!_ I don't want to die, Daddy; not ever!"

"Everyone dies eventually, dear," said Mr. Claythorne as he rocked his sobbing daughter. "But you won't die for many, many years. You'll live to a ripe old age and bark at your great-grandchildren to quit sitting there and get off their lazy bums to help you walk."

Vera giggled, "Daddy, you're silly."

Mr. Claythorne then said, "Come. I think your mother would like a hug." He gave Vera a piggyback ride as he carried her to her parents' bedroom. He lightly knocked on the door and said, "May we come in?"

There was about a fifteen second silence before Granny opened the door and said, "Yes, Clara wishes to speak to the both of you." She allowed Mr. Claythorne to carry Vera in before closing the door behind them. Vera noticed her mother was dabbing at her face with a handkerchief and asked, "Mummy? Did I make you cry?"

"No, sweetheart," said Mrs. Claythorne. "I was a time bomb when I came home; _anything_ would've set me off."

Mr. Claythorne sat on the bed next to his wife and allowed Vera to climb down. Vera crawled across the bed and hugged her mother, prompting her to take Vera in her arms and give her a tight hug. "I love you, darling," she said tearfully.

"I love you too, mummy," said Vera. "I promise I'll _never_ die, not for a hundred years."

Mr. Claythorne joined the hug and the three shared a nice group hug, making for a tender family moment.


	3. 1918

**1918**

One thing Vera liked about spring was her birthday. Another thing she liked was all the lilacs that would bloom in the backyard and give off a pleasant smell for Vera to inhale whenever she was outside. This particular day in early May was no exception.

"Oh you silly goose!" cried out Evelyn. "When are you _ever_ going to stop smelling the lilacs long enough to play with me?"

"In just a minute," said Vera, who was now the age of four. Vera often got frustrated with Evelyn because she'd always wish to be as old as Evelyn to be able to do all the things she could not do only to have Evelyn doing even _more_ things by the time Vera reached that age. Evelyn, too, got frustrated with Vera—but for entirely different reasons.

"If you spend too much time over there, you'll get stung by a bee," warned Evelyn. "And trust me, getting stung is _not_ fun."

"You worry too much," said Vera. She inhaled the lovely lilac smell once more. She walked up to a flower, took a huge whiff—only for a bumblebee to fly out and sting her on the nose.

Vera shrieked in pain as she clutched her nose. She barely heard her mother rush out and ask if she was all right, or Evelyn explaining what had happened, though she did manage to hear Evelyn whisper, "I _told_ you so!" as she was escorted indoors.

"Not much to do about bee stings, I'm afraid," said Mrs. Claythorne as she sat her daughter down on the couch in the living room. "What I _can_ do is get some ice, wrap it up, and put it on your nose to make the swelling go down. If you get sick from it, I'll take you to the doctor."

Vera cried and clutched her swelling nose as her mother walked into the kitchen to get some ice for her poor daughter. While she was waiting, she heard her father come in with the mail. She decided to try to take her mind off her pain by straining to listen to wait her parents were talking about, but she only heard fragments: "Uncle James in Kansas…mysterious illness…influenza, but has other symptoms of other illnesses…kills victims quickly…affects young adults worst of all…some people in Great Britain…" After that, there was no more. About five minutes later, Mrs. Claythorne returned to the living room with some ice in a paper towel. As she held it to her daughter's nose, Vera asked, "Mummy, what were you and Daddy talking about?"

"Never you mind, dear," said Mrs. Claythorne. "We just got a letter from Uncle James, your American uncle, about a mysterious illness spreading throughout Kansas, that's all."

"What kind of mysterious illness?" asked Vera.

"That's why it's called mysterious, dear," said Mrs. Claythorne. "No one knows exactly what it is or how it started. It has the symptoms of several other types of diseases, such as pneumonia or typhus."

"It's not going to come _here,_ is it?" asked a now worried Vera.

"Well, there have been _some_ cases reported in Britain, but I don't think it's going to spread all the way here in our little country," assured Mrs. Claythorne.

* * *

There, as it turned out, she was wrong. By the end of May, this mysterious illness had spread all the way to Torquay and beyond. Nearly all the neighbours had it. Stores everywhere closed down and parents refused to allow their children to go out. Mr. Claythorne was one of them.

"But Daddy, we're _bored!_" whined Evelyn and Vera.

"I don't care, your safety has to come first," said Mr. Claythorne. "I don't like what I've heard about this illness and I certainly don't want either of you to catch it. Your grandfather—my father—has already been killed by it and so has your Aunt Alice."

"But Uncle James and Aunt Annemarie and Cousin Fleta survived it," insisted Evelyn. "And I overheard mummy say to Vera a few weeks ago that it only kills young adults."

"No, what she meant was that it affects young adults the _worst,_" explained Mr. Claythorne. "This illness kills people of all ages. I already told you that it killed your grandfather, didn't I? And it took your baby Cousin Henry, along with his mother, Alice, as I have mentioned, and his father, Mitchell."

Vera sulked and muttered, "I can't wait till mummy gets home."

"Mummy will be home soon," said Mr. Claythorne wearily, growing tired of arguing with his daughters. "I've already told you she left town to take care of Granny and Grandpa so they'd survive."

As if on cue, Mrs. Claythorne came through the door, coughing. "Mummy!" squealed Evelyn and Vera. They ran up to hug their mother, but she said, "No, dears. You can't hug mummy."

"Clara?" asked Mr. Claythorne, concerned. "Don't tell me you've got it, too."

"Mum and Dad didn't make it," said Mrs. Claythorne, sounding out of breath, her eyes red. "And I think I've caught it."

* * *

Mr. Claythorne was up half the night taking care of his ill wife while Evelyn and Vera sat up in their beds, worried.

"Is Mummy going to get better, Evelyn?" asked Vera.

"I don't know," said Evelyn. "I hope so. I wish she'd let us go near her, though. But I hear it's extremely contagious."

The two girls were interrupted when Mr. Claythorne came in, looking flushed. "Good news, girls," he said. "Your mother's fever has broken. All that there's left to do is let her rest."

"Daddy? Are you okay?" asked Vera.

"I'll be fine, dear," said Mr. Claythorne, though he didn't really sound very sure that he would be fine. "I'm just tired from staying up late with your mother, that's all. Speaking of which, you two should be getting into bed right now." With that, he closed the door, but it didn't block out Mr. Claythorne's loud coughing and hacking.

"Is Daddy sick?" asked Vera.

"Sounds like it to me," said Evelyn.

"Oh no!" said Vera. "If Daddy's sick, who's going to take care of Mummy?"

"We could always call for a doctor, though I'm not sure how," said Evelyn. "And we can't go for one on foot; we're not allowed to leave the house, remember? Besides, Mummy will probably be better enough to take care of Daddy by tomorrow."

* * *

Alas, one of the most depressing things about life is how children's hopes tend to be dashed.

Mrs. Claythorne, though better than she was last night, did not have the strength to take care of her sick husband. She did, however, have the strength to call the town doctor, who came in shortly after lunch to take care of them while Evelyn and Vera played downstairs. They couldn't go outside even if they were allowed; it was pouring rain.

"Oh doctor, I don't feel so good," Vera sighed melodramatically as she and Evelyn played Doctor. "I've got an _awful_ headache and my feet are swelling up to the size of rocks!"

"You sit down on the couch, little girl, while I see what's wrong," said Evelyn in her most doctor-like voice. "Oh yes, I'm afraid it's _very_ severe indeed! You are to stay in bed for five years and not move one inch!"

"Not even to go to the bathroom?" Vera's voice quivered.

"No, not even then," said Evelyn firmly.

The girls' mouths twitched before they burst into laughter. Everything suddenly became serious, though, when Vera's laughing turned into a coughing fit.

"Vera?" said Evelyn, suddenly concerned. "Are you all right?"

Vera stopped coughing for a few seconds and said, "I'm all right; my throat just feels a bit tickly." But then the 'tickly' feeling in her throat forced her to cough, the tickly feeling growing rougher.

"Maybe you should go upstairs and see the doctor," suggested Evelyn.

"No, no—_cough_—I'll be—_cough_—all right," Vera tried to say before once again going into a violent coughing fit, which lasted for about half a minute before she decided to follow Evelyn's suggestion. She drudged upstairs, suddenly feeling quite tired, and walked up to her parents' bedroom. She knocked on the door. During the brief ten seconds it took for Dr. Baker to answer the door, she contemplated lying down on the floor and sleeping, but the door was answered before she could.

"I've told you five times already, little girl, your parents will be just _fine,_" said Dr. Baker wearily. "Your father's fever is going down quite nicely and your mother now has the strength to sit up in her bed."

"I know," said Vera weakly. "But I don't feel so good…"

* * *

Within five minutes of Dr. Baker's diagnosis—she had indeed caught this mysterious illness—Vera had gotten undressed, changed into her nightgown, and crawled into bed. Her nose felt drippy, but she had been given a box of tissues by Dr. Baker to take care of that. He had now switched to taking care of Vera, though she was too tired to notice his presence. She suddenly ached all over. Every limb and muscle joint felt as though they were being sat upon by a rather large child.

And the worst was yet to come. Vera had eventually fallen asleep, only to suddenly be woken up by the awful sensation of those same limbs and muscle joints being on fire. She was also feeling rather chilly in spite of all the blankets and when she said this to Dr. Baker, he took off one blanket and put a cold washcloth on her forehead.

This was basically how it went for the rest of the day. She kept drifting in and out of sleep, only to be woken up by her aching limbs and having the doctor giving her some sort of treatment; at one point, she had even been given an awful-tasting medicine. Evelyn had even peeked through the door at one point, though Vera fell asleep after that.

The next time she woke up after that, though, Evelyn was coughing and hacking in the bed across from her, waking Vera up. This time, the doctor had come back with some water and told the two girls they had to get some liquids into them. They obediently drank the water, mostly to quench their never-ending thirst.

After several periods of waking up and going back to sleep, with her parents coming in and out, Vera finally drifted away into a deep sleep.

* * *

The chirp of the robin standing on the window sill outside was what broke Vera out of her deep sleep. She yawned and slowly woke up to see the beautiful sunshine spreading all over the room. Suddenly, she was feeling much better. Well, she still felt a _little_ tired and achy, but not as bad as she felt last night.

Vera slowly turned over to see Evelyn staring at her. "Good morning," she yawned.

"Good morning to you, too," said Evelyn. "I've been up for five minutes waiting for _you_ to wake up."

The door opened and in walked Mrs. Claythorne. Her eyes brimmed with tears when she saw Evelyn and Vera, alive and awake. "My girls," she whispered softly. She sat down in a chair beside Vera's bed and stroked some hair off of Vera's cheeks. "Thank God you two made it," she whispered softly.

"Mummy, did you come into our room last night, or did I just dream that?" asked Vera.

"No, dear; I did come in," said Mrs. Claythorne. "I felt better enough to get up and walk around, so I decided to come in and read a few nursery rhymes to the two of you as Dr. Baker did his work—he went home, by the way, though I suspect it's not going to last very long, judging by the rate this illness is spreading."

One particular rhyme suddenly stood out in Vera's head clear as day: The Ten Little Indian Boys nursery rhyme. "And—and did you read us that _awful_ rhyme about those poor Indian boys?" whispered Vera.

"Yes, I did," said Mrs. Claythorne. "I wasn't thinking very clearly as I was still recovering from that illness, so I just read any rhymes I came across. Did it frighten you?"

"Oh yes!" said Evelyn and Vera at the same time.

Vera spoke: "I had a terrible nightmare about that last Indian boy—the one who hanged himself. I dreamt someone would push me towards the rope and then throw it around my neck and strangle me with it!" To make sure her mother wouldn't feel bad, Vera quickly added, "But I only dreamt that once before waking up and then going back to sleep for the rest of the night."

"Where's Daddy?" asked Evelyn.

"He's still resting," said Mrs. Claythorne. "He's almost better, but much like you two, he still needs some rest. Would either of you like any breakfast?"

"Perhaps, though I still don't feel too hungry," said Evelyn.

"And you, Vera?"

"Same."

"Well, I'll make you two some toast and bring it up. You know, I'm really glad the four of us survived this, even if most of our family—and most of our neighbours—did not. I wouldn't be surprised if the death toll was quite high indeed!"

* * *

For once, a prediction about this illness came true.

When June came, Great Britain reported an estimated three-hundred and ten deaths. Fortunately, by this time, the disease had passed Torquay and Evelyn and Vera were well enough to play outside again.

"Didn't you learn your lesson?!" cried out Evelyn as Vera stopped to smell the lilacs.

"Of course I did," said Vera. "I'll be there in a minute."

One of the many things Vera loved about spring was how, after weeks of being cooped up on days when it got too cold to play outside, she could finally go outside and enjoy the fresh air. This particular day was no exception.

**A/N: Major thanks to Christie Fan for all their help! Any mistakes made about the Spanish Flu are my own.**


	4. 1919

**1919**

Vera pounded away at the piano with her mother watching over her shoulder to see if she was playing the right keys. Vera was only a day away from turning five and her father felt she was old enough to be taught the essential skills in life. However, he didn't want to send her or Evelyn to a public system because he used a lot of not-so-nice words she had been told never to repeat to describe some of the teaching methods in certain schools. Instead, he said, the girls would be kept home and taught what they _really_ needed to know.

And one of those things was playing the piano. Vera was slowly getting better, though not by much.

"Mummy, may I go and play with Evelyn now?" asked Vera.

"Five more minutes," assured Mrs. Claythorne.

Vera sighed and began to play 'Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star', a simple tune her parents felt she was better off starting off with. One of the reasons why her parents were having her learn how to play the piano was because her Aunt Annemarie, Uncle James, and Cousin Fleta were all coming to stay for a week and her mother wanted to have a nice tune for them prepared when they came—and they were coming from America, no less! Vera had heard many great things about America, but had never been there personally, nor would she actually meet them until now.

"_Now_ may I go?" pleaded Vera.

"I wonder if you're getting bored because we gave you a too simple song?" wondered Mrs. Claythorne. "Why don't you try something a bit harder?" Before she could suggest a harder tune, she noticed her husband pulling up in the driveway with three other passengers in the back. "Oh, your relatives are here!" she exclaimed cheerfully.

"Really?" said Vera, who jumped off the piano bench and ran to the door. Evelyn, who had been playing with her doll nearby, put the doll down long enough to get up and race to the door as well. The door was pushed open by Mr. Claythorne, with his brother, James, his sister-in-law, Annemarie, and his four-and-a-half-year-old niece, Fleta, who too would be turning five within a few months.

"Girls," announced Mr. Claythorne, "meet your Uncle James, Aunt Annemarie, and Cousin Fleta."

Uncle James was rather tall, as were all grown-ups, but he was _very_ tall, almost like a giraffe. Aunt Annemarie had soft brown hair that fell slightly past her shoulders. Cousin Fleta had short brown hair that was in an almost sophisticated bob.

"Hi," said Vera, sticking out her hand to Fleta. "I'm Vera."

"Fleta's the name," said Fleta in a funny-sounding voice.

"Your voice sounds funny," said Evelyn.

"You two sound even funnier," countered Fleta.

The grown-ups were busy getting themselves acquainted, so Vera said, "Why don't you come outside with us and play in the backyard?"

"Sure," shrugged Fleta.

The three girls merrily skipped out the back door and ran outside. Vera pointed to Tree and said, "This is our tree. We like to climb it on warmer days. We're not allowed to go past the bird house, though."

"Could we climb it now?" asked Fleta.

"Mother and father say it's okay as long as it isn't rainy out," said Evelyn.

At that exact moment, soft, gentle rain drops lightly fell onto the girls.

"Aw, shit," grumbled Fleta.

"Fleta!" gasped Evelyn. "Father said we're _never_ to use that word!"

"Why?" asked Fleta. "Why shouldn't you use that word? It's just a word. It means nothing. The big kids say it all the time back home. And besides, don't adults use that word, too? If it's such a bad word, then why would an adult use it?"

Evelyn couldn't argue. It was true; her father had used the s-word when describing what the public school systems were full of, only for that word to make it on the list of words the two girls were never to use.

"In fact," continued Fleta, "to further prove my point, why don't you, Vera, bring that word up at supper tonight?"

"Don't do it, Vera," said Evelyn quickly. "Fleta's only trying to get you in trouble."

Vera didn't want to get caught in the middle of a pending argument between Fleta and Evelyn, so she said, "Let's go back inside before it gets any rainier."

The three girls dashed back inside and played Doctor, though Vera's mind wasn't completely on the game. She was thinking about what Fleta had said. _"Why shouldn't you use that word? It's just a word. It means nothing. The big kids say it all the time back home. And besides, don't adults use that word, too? If it's such a bad word, then why would an adult use it?"_

Perhaps she was right. If 'shit' wasn't a nice word, then why would adults say it, too? And it _was_ just a word. Some words had a meaning; others didn't. What meaning could that word have that was so bad she was forbidden from saying it? Maybe, just _maybe_, she _would_ use that word at supper after all.

* * *

"So how's everything going at work, James?"

"Oh, splendid, Fred; just _splendid!_"

It was dinnertime and everyone was gathered around the table eating and talking (well, the grown-ups were doing most of the talking and only talked about boring grown-up stuff and only asked the girls a question once in a while).

There had been five times where Fleta would give Vera a wink, as though to say, "Go ahead and use the forbidden word," at the exact same time Evelyn would give Vera a solemn look as though to say, "Don't even think about using that word." Vera herself hadn't made up her mind about _when_ or _how_ to use it anyway. In fact, she was already beginning to think about not using the word at all when Aunt Annemarie turned to Vera and said, "Your daddy just told me all about those children whom you and Evelyn get together to play with every so often. And he also told me about that one boy who keeps pulling your pigtails and chasing you. I think you just might have your very first boyfriend."

Boyfriend? Warren Mayer—a _boyfriend?_ Ugh. He was a really gross little boy. He was kind of chubby and picked his nose and ate bugs. Plus, he was really annoying. He wouldn't stop pulling Vera's pigtails or chase her around his backyard (or her backyard, or another friends' backyard, depending on the arrangement). And Aunt Annemarie actually thought he was Vera's boyfriend.

Now Vera had an excuse to use that word and she used it. She wrinkled up her nose and said: "Ew! I don't want _Warren_ to be my boyfriend! He's full of shit!"

All the talking and chattering suddenly ceased. There was a chilling silence. Everyone was staring at her (save Fleta who was holding one hand up to her mouth, trying not to laugh). Vera suddenly wished she hadn't said that and thought about quickly saying something else to take everyone's mind off what she said, but nothing came to mind.

Finally, her mother spoke: "I _beg_ your _pardon?_"

It was too much; Fleta burst out laughing. But no one seemed to notice. They were all focused on Vera and how naughty she had been.

Mr. Claythorne said: "Come with me, young lady."

Vera slowly slid off her chair and followed her father upstairs, the sound of Fleta's laughing and snorting slowly fading behind her as she descended the stairs.

They were now at the door of the upstairs bathroom. Mr. Claythorne opened the door and gestured for her to go in. She did. He followed.

Vera began to open her mouth to speak, but instantly regretted having ever opened up her mouth because just as she did, Mr. Claythorne picked up a bar of soap and put it in her mouth.

"You are to sit here for exactly ten minutes to wash your filthy mouth out with soap," he said sternly. "I'll come when ten minutes are up." And with that, he left the bathroom, leaving Vera to stand there with an icky, soapy taste in her mouth and the humiliation of having fallen for one of Fleta's schemes to get her in trouble. This was Fleta's intention all along. Not to prove to the adults that 'shit' was just another word. No. It was all to make a fool out of Vera.

Vera sat on the edge of the bathtub, swinging her feet against the tub. After about three minutes, Fleta came up to see Vera, took one look at her, and burst out laughing. "You should _see_ yourself in a mirror!" she snorted. "You look _so_ ridiculous! Ha-ha-ha!" Fleta strutted off to her guest room, as it was almost the girls' bedtime at this point, laughing triumphantly.

Vera humphed, resolving to get even with Fleta before the week was out.

* * *

It felt as though those ten minutes would never end, but Mr. Claythorne finally came upstairs and took the wretched bar of soap out of Vera's mouth. She ran to the sink and tried to spit out as much of the bad taste as she could. Luckily, Mr. Claythorne was soft enough to provide her with a glass of water to rinse her mouth out, though it didn't get rid of _all_ the taste.

"Hopefully, that will teach you not to go around repeating everything that Warren Mayer says," said Mr. Claythorne firmly.

Vera, who had started to squirt some toothpaste onto her toothbrush, looked up. Warren Mayer? But he was too goofy to know any such words at all.

"Evelyn told me all about the words that go on between you and Warren during your play dates," said Mr. Claythorne. "And I assure you, after the spanking he'll get from his mother tonight, he'll never repeat another bad word in front of you ever again!"

"You told his mother?" said Vera.

"No, that was what your mother did," said Mr. Claythorne. "Now get ready for bed. Tomorrow's your fifth birthday and I don't want to hear anymore naughty words when your friends come over!"

* * *

"You told him it was _Warren?_" said Vera as she and Evelyn snuggled up under the covers ten minutes later. "But why? Why didn't you just tell him about Fleta?"

"Because while Daddy was upstairs and putting that bar of soap in your mouth and all the other grown-ups were making a fuss, Fleta whispered to me that if I told on her, she'd trick you into saying another naughty word, one that begins with the letter F," explained Evelyn.

"Then why didn't you just remind Daddy how he had used that word a while ago and that I remembered it?"

"I didn't think of that! When Daddy was pondering over where you could've heard that word from, I blurted out the first name that came to mind and told him that while chasing you, Warren would use that word in sentences like, 'Come back! I'm not full of—', well you know."

"Poor Warren! As gross as he is, I don't think he's going to like me very much when he comes to my birthday party tomorrow!"

* * *

That, of course, would turn out to be an understatement.

The next day was Vera's birthday. She had woken up bright and early and had a delicious pancake breakfast before going upstairs and changing into her party dress (a pink pinafore) to prepare herself for when the guests came. The first guest to come was Warren Mayer. His mother dropped him off with Vera's present, but not before apologizing to Mrs. Claythorne and assuring her that Warren now knew better than to say naughty words. After she left, Warren, heartbroken over the love of his life betraying him, threw Vera's gift on a nearby chair and waddled over to the living room, where he sat down on the couch and rubbed his sore bum.

"Well, it's just Warren," shrugged Evelyn, who was wearing a white party blouse and black sleeveless dress.

In time, more party guests (in total, five) arrived. The party started off peacefully enough: Everyone played 'ring a ring o roses' until Nancy Mullins started complaining about wrinkling her new dress. A record was played on the gramophone, resulting in everyone dancing all around the living room and having a pillow fight and jumping up and down on the furniture all while laughing and shrieking (and resulting in Mrs. Claythorne wishing bad things upon the inventor of the gramophone). And best of all, Vera opened her gifts. She got a new doll, three new books, and a box of chocolates (which were from Warren and he confessed to have 'accidentally' eating five of them on the way). Yes, everything started off peacefully indeed and it looked as though it was going to stay peaceful.

Then Fleta came home from her shopping trip with Aunt Annemarie.

Fleta came home wearing a cream-coloured silk dress with matching stockings and black tap shoes. Vera suddenly looked like an orphan in rags compared to Fleta.

"Why, hello, Fleta!" exclaimed Mrs. Claythorne. "Back so soon?"

"We had a _wonderful_ time shopping all around London, but Fleta insisted we come home so she could catch the rest of Vera's birthday party," explained Aunt Annemarie.

"You're just in luck, Fleta; Vera and her friends are all outside in the backyard," said Mrs. Claythorne. "Why don't you go play with them?"

Vera, who had been listening from the kitchen, silently prayed, _Please say no, please say no…_

To her dismay, Fleta cheerfully said, "Of course, Aunt Clara! Where's Vera?"

"I'm pretty sure she's still outside," said Mrs. Claythorne, who began to lead Fleta outside. Vera waited until Fleta was outside before sneaking out the door and into the backyard.

"There you are, Vera!" exclaimed Fleta. "I've just come back from shopping with my mum. Did I miss anything?"

Vera's eyes shifted over to the little pond that was close to the corner of the fence. She suddenly had a wicked idea. She smiled and said, "No, not much. In fact, you're just in time for a brand new game!"

She had said this loud enough for the other guests to hear. Their ears perked up at the word 'game'.

Vera skipped off to the pond, Fleta and the other guests following behind.

When Vera got to the pond, she said, "Okay, here's the game: You look way up in the sky and try to make a shape out of one the clouds above. Whoever comes up with the most creative shape wins! Because Fleta is my cousin, she'll go first."

Fleta played into Vera's trap and looked up at the sky. "The clouds are too small," she complained.

"Look harder," said Vera, who took Fleta by the arm and lead her a bit closer to the pond.

"I _still_ don't see any—AAAAHHH!" screamed Fleta as Vera pushed her into the pond.

Vera let out a triumphant laugh. At last, she had gotten her revenge upon her wicked cousin! The other guests thought the sight of Fleta falling into the pond was funny, so they laughed as well.

Fleta quickly came up to the surface, coughing and spluttering. She pulled herself out of the lake and gave Vera the Evil Eye before saying, "This isn't over. This is _far_ from over."

For a brief minute or two, Vera worried that Fleta might tattle on her, but when Fleta said nothing the rest of the day, Vera relaxed and assumed Fleta had just been all talk.

* * *

Everything was at peace for the next three days. Everyone went about their business and Evelyn and Vera allowed Fleta to join in their games without anyone getting hurt.

This all came to an end on the sixth day. It was a bright and sunny day so the girls could play outside.

"I'm tired of playing tag," sighed Fleta. "Can't we play something else?"

"What about hide-and-go-seek?" suggested Evelyn.

"We've played _that_ a hundred times," said Fleta, rolling her eyes.

"Then let's play shape-the-cloud-and-fall-in-the-pond," snickered Vera.

"Oh, drop it already!" snapped Fleta.

"What about Tree?" said Evelyn. "It's the first time the weather's been nice enough to climb Tree all week."

"I guess," shrugged Fleta.

The three girls began to climb Tree, pretending they were mountain hikers venturing up a treacherous mountain.

"Alack!" cried out Vera. "I fear the wind has grown too strong for me to go on! Go on without me my brave companions—remember me always!"

"Never!" cried out Evelyn. "We sisters must stick together!"

"And because the two of you foolishly decided to die together, I hereby proclaim this Mount Fleta!" announced Fleta, who had reached the bird house. She looked around and said, "Well, this isn't much of a view." She began to climb up further before Vera said, "We're not allowed to go past the bird house, remember?"

"Shut up," was Fleta's response before going one branch higher.

Evelyn scurried up the tree. "Fleta, please, we'll get in trouble," pleaded Evelyn. "Fleta, stop!"

Evelyn was about to go one branch further when the branch she had begun to climb on suddenly gave way beneath her and she fell off the tree and onto the ground.

Vera quickly scurried down the tree at almost the same time Fleta did and ran up to her sister. "Evelyn! Evelyn! Are you all right?" she cried.

Evelyn moaned in agony, not noticing the grown-ups running outside. "What happened?" asked Uncle James.

Before Vera had a chance to explain, Fleta said, "We were all climbing up that tree when Evelyn started to climb past that birdhouse. Vera and I _tried_ to stop her, we really did, but she wouldn't listen to us and the next thing we knew, she was all over the ground!"

"Evelyn, this is why we told you never to climb past the birdhouse," said Mrs. Claythorne. "Fred, help me carry her to the car; I think her arm is broken."

* * *

Evelyn had not only broken her arm, she had also dislocated her ankle. She had to wear two casts, but the doctor said the casts would be off within three months. Even then, however, she had to be careful with particular activities, but she might be able to play carefree again by July or August, though perhaps not quite as carefree as before.

Vera didn't speak to Fleta for the rest of the day, despite Fleta's protests that she hadn't meant for Evelyn to get hurt, that she had only intended to get Vera to climb up the tree only to call out for the adults and tattle on her. She could've _killed_ Evelyn and she knew it. And she had lied to the grown-ups about it. Well, there was only one thing left to do before Fleta left tomorrow just so she could have the last laugh...

* * *

The next day, Fleta and her parents had to go back to America. As they headed out the door, Mr. Claythorne in the car ready to be their chauffeur, Fleta said, "Good-bye, Auntie Clara and Cousin Vera. Perhaps we shall meet again."

"Yes, perhaps," said Vera, smiling. "Good-bye, my dear cousin."

As Fleta and her parents headed out to the car, Vera wondered how Fleta would react to the frog in her suitcase once she unpacked.


	5. 1920

**1920**

Vera peeked around the corner to make sure no one was downstairs. When she was absolutely _sure_ no one would spot her, she silently crept down the stairs, across the hall, and out to the backyard.

Like many six-year-olds, Vera's patience had a tendency to run out. A perfect example of this was how her family was going off to St. Tredennick tomorrow for a week-long vacation. Vera, having never been to a beach before, was really excited. The only place she had ever swam was in the little pond in her backyard, though it wasn't really much of a swim. In fact, she had taught herself to swim using that pond. Every night for the past two weeks (with the exception of the occasional rainy or chilly night), Vera would sneak out of the house and take a little swim in the pond wearing her nightgown. Then, she'd go back inside and upstairs and change into another pair of pyjamas. She didn't know whether or not her parents suspected or if they would approve, but sneaking out came with a real thrill moreso than asking for permission to go out.

Vera was now at the pond. She gazed deep into the azure pond which seemed brighter thanks to the moon. During the daytime, the pond wasn't really much to look at; it just looked like any other pond. But at night, everything changed. It wasn't _just_ a pond; it was a magical pool of wonders.

Vera slowly dipped herself in the pond before letting go. The pond wasn't too deep, but when Vera tried to stand up in it, the water came up to her chin, which was what she often liked. She stood there in the water for a few minutes, observing her surroundings from a different point of view, before dunking herself underwater, the water covering her head like a blanket.

She opened her eyes and saw a massive world unlike anything that could be seen above water, including a monster peeking its head underwater, staring her in the eye—no wait, it was only Evelyn.

Vera swam up to the surface, bursting through her watery blanket, and saw Evelyn lifting her head out of the water. "I don't think Mum and Dad would approve of you doing this since we're going on vacation tomorrow."

"I know, but I just _can't_ wait," said Vera apologetically. "It seems so _long!_"

"We're leaving bright and early at seven and it's nearly midnight," said Evelyn. "If neither of us get to bed soon, we'll both be too tired to go tomorrow."

"Fine, I'm getting out," sighed Vera as she pulled herself out of the pond. "You just love to spoil all the fun."

"Almost as much as you enjoy killing frogs," teased Evelyn.

"For the last time, it was _alive_ when I put it in Fleta's suitcase," protested Vera, sick of Evelyn's taunts after receiving a letter from Cousin Fleta last year saying that when she opened her suitcase after going home from her last visit, she found a dead frog.

* * *

The train ride was three things: Hot, stuffy, and boring. But when the family got there, they knew it would all be worth it.

The sea was a blend of the colours blue and green, with white magical foam washing up on the hot, yellow sands. The first thing the girls did as soon as they had gotten to the hotel and checked in was change into their bathing suits and run down to the beach, their parents following strictly behind.

"Careful, girls," called out Mrs. Claythorne. "Don't swim out too far."

"We won't!" chimed Evelyn and Vera.

The two girls ran into the water and began to swim. For a minute or two, they played fun games like Mermaid and Sea Creature. Then, two girls playing with a beach ball caught Vera's eye. One of these girls had curly hair that was the colour of the sun; the other had simple dark hair that went down to her shoulders. They looked as though they were just a few years older than Vera or around Evelyn's age (eight).

Vera was interested in starting up a friendship with these two girls, so she swam up to them and said, "Um, excuse me?"

The two girls stopped playing with the beach ball. "What do you want?" snapped the blonde girl.

Vera suddenly felt embarrassed about interrupting their game and muttered, "I, er, only wanted to introduce myself. My name is Vera Claythorne."

"I'm Jackie," said the dark haired girl. "Jackie de Bellefort. This is my best friend in the whole world, Linnet Ridgeway! She invited me to come spend the summer holidays with her—and boy, am I glad I did! She is just _so_ kind!"

Linnet Ridgeway…that name sounded familiar. Linnet thought the same of Vera's name, for she said, "I believe my father considered doing business with your father?"

Now Vera recognized the name: "Oh yes! My daddy said your daddy almost agreed to be business partners with him! But he turned him down for some funny reason."

"Yes, my father said it was because your father felt he was too good for the likes of the Ridgeway family," said Linnet snobbishly.

Vera was disliking Linnet more and more by the minute, but still wanted to give her and Jackie a chance, so she said, "Do you want to go back to the shore and build a sandcastle with my sister and me?"

"Sure!" said Jackie. "It'll be most fun!"

The three girls swam back to shore as Vera called out for Evelyn to meet her on the shore. She did and also met Jackie and Linnet.

"Ah yes," nodded Evelyn. "You're the girl whom my father described to be a harlot in the making."

Linnet stuck her tongue out at Evelyn.

The four girls began to build a sand castle. "Did I ever tell you about the time I stabbed a boy with a penknife?" said Jackie.

"No," said Vera. "What happened?"

"Some dumb boy was teasing this poor dog," said Jackie. "I tried to get him to stop, but he wouldn't, so I pulled out a penknife and stabbed him."

"Is he okay?" asked Evelyn.

"Oh, he went to the hospital, but he'll be okay," said Jackie. "Next time, though, he'll think twice before harming some poor innocent creature ever again!"

"My daddy says it's never okay to hurt someone," said Vera.

"And he's right; it isn't, but sometimes, things happen where you _have_ to hurt someone," said Jackie, struggling for the right words. "I mean, that poor dog was in a lot of pain and the boy just wouldn't stop. I didn't _want_ to hurt him, but I just had no choice."

"There," said Linnet. "One tower is complete. Now all we need to do is just build several more towers and maybe even a moat…"

* * *

"…and then we built a sand castle and we played tag until Linnet's daddy called for her and Jackie to come back in!" finished Vera as she explained it all to her mother later that night in their room. "It was a lot of fun!"

"So, you met Melhuish's daughter, eh?" said Mr. Claythorne, who had been listening. "What was she like?"

"Well, she was kind of snobby and bossy," admitted Vera. "But I guess she was okay. I really liked her friend Jackie, though."

"Jacqueline de Bellefort, you mean?" said Mr. Claythorne. "Yes, I've met her father somewhere before. I hear he and his wife are having marital issues, but are getting by them the best they can. I also heard of an incident where she stabbed some poor boy with a penknife."

"Daddy, the little boy was teasing a poor dog," said Vera.

"It doesn't matter; she should've known to control her temper," said Mr. Claythorne firmly. "Now, off to bed, both of you. You can play with Linnet and Jacqueline tomorrow."

* * *

For almost the rest of the week, Evelyn and Vera would play with Linnet and Jackie on the beach. They'd go swimming together, build sandcastles, and play with Linnet's beach ball.

This pattern was abruptly disrupted on the day before Evelyn and Vera were scheduled to go home when they saw Jackie playing on the beach by herself. "Where's Linnet?" asked Vera.

"She came down with the chicken pox," explained Jackie. "She's highly contagious and can't come out and play. I washed my hands thoroughly, though, so I should be all right."

The three girls began to build a sandcastle. As they did, Vera overheard her parents talking about something they were reading in the paper. She heard the words 'Mysterious Affair at Styles'.

"What mysterious affair?" she asked, getting up and walking up to her parents.

"Oh, some woman was poisoned and a former Belgian police officer caught the person who killed her," said Mr. Claythorne.

"Someone _killed_ her?" asked Vera. "But why?"

"Well, people have many different reasons for killing, sweetie," said Mrs. Claythorne. "The prime motives are greed, revenge, and love. Some people kill because someone in their family has a lot of money and they want that money, or they kill because someone made them angry and they want that person to pay dearly for it. The strongest out of all of them is love. Sometimes, people kill for a reason related to love that is often connected to the other two. That being said, there is always a _reason_ for murder, but there is never an _excuse_. Murder is wrong because you're ending the life of an innocent person, someone who may have been looking forward to doing many things during their lifetime, but never will all because of another person's foolishness. Not only that, but you're also causing grief and misery for the friends and family members of the victim. There was probably someone who loved the victim very much and never got a chance to say good-bye to them.

"Remember, dear: Every single life is important. Killing one of God's creatures for whatever reason is wrong, no matter how justified you feel in doing so."

"I promise I'll _never_ kill anyone for any reason at all, mummy," said Vera.

* * *

Evelyn and Vera didn't want it to come, but the day to go back home had arrived the next day. They tearfully said goodbye to Jackie, who said, "Perhaps we'll meet again someday."

"Yes," said Vera. "Perhaps we shall."


	6. 1923

**1923**

The one reason above all others for Vera to treasure winter was Christmas. She loved everything about it: She loved getting up extra early to open up all her presents, both ones from her family and whatever she had asked Santa Clause for (even though she was nine and therefore at the age where she was beginning to get sceptical of Santa's existence). She loved going to the church service to hear the story of the birth of Jesus Christ. She loved having one big Christmas dinner with her family (that is, she and her sister and parents since another trip to America would be too expensive for their only living relatives). Most of all, she loved watching the looks on the faces of her parents as they unwrapped her gifts to them, even if they were nothing special. This year, though, they would be special. And she would make sure of it.

"Vera, hurry up!" cried Evelyn. "Father said he'd only let us shop on our own for ten minutes and we're down to five!"

"In a minute," said Vera. "I have to find the perfect gift for mother."

"Can't we come back tomorrow?" begged Evelyn. "I really want to go sledding!"

"No, this has to be done today," said Vera firmly. She gazed around the general store, trying to search for the right thing for her mother, but it just wasn't _there._Then she spotted it: A beautiful gold chain necklace. She remembered mother subtly hinting to father a week ago that she would love a necklace, with father subtly hinting back that it might be too expensive. But her mother had been looking at the necklaces in a jewellery store. Necklaces couldn't be _too_ expensive in a general store—could they?

"Excuse me, Mr. Collins?" said Vera, walking up to the desk where items were paid for. "How much does that pretty necklace cost?"

"It costs around five pounds," said Mr. Collins cheerfully.

Five pounds. Vera and Evelyn had only been given two pounds each; they didn't have enough money.

"Well…it was nice talking to you," said Vera, trying to hide her disappointment. "C'mon, Evelyn, let's go. I guess I'll just come back tomorrow."

* * *

Vera did indeed return the next day, without her parents knowing—or without any money. She knew what she was going to do about her situation. It might not be a very honest solution, but it was the best one she could come up with.

"Good morning, Mr. Collins," said Vera cheerfully.

"Good morning to you too, Vera," said Mr. Collins just as cheerfully. "What can I get for you, today?"

"I'd like a candy cane, please," said Vera in her most grown-up voice.

"Coming right up," said Mr. Collins.

While he was busy bending down to scoop up a candy cane for Vera, she quickly snatched the necklace off the hook it was on and stuffed in her pocket, hoping he hadn't noticed. Apparently, he hadn't, because he came back up with a candy cane with the same cheery expression on his face.

"Oh, I just remembered: I forgot my money," said Vera apologetically.

"That's all right," said Mr. Collins gently. "As a matter of fact, they come free, didn't you remember?"

"Oh, right, I didn't," muttered Vera.

"Here," said Mr. Collins, handing a candy cane over to Vera.

"Thank you, Mr. Collins," muttered Vera before heading out the general store. She began to suck on the candy cane, though it didn't taste quite as sweet as candy canes usually did.

* * *

When Vera got home, she ran straight up to her room and put the necklace in a tiny little box and put it under the tree and promptly forgot about it…for the rest of the day at least. She kept thinking about it in her sleep. She'd dream about going to the gallows and Mr. Collins being both the man announcing for her to hang and the executioner. She'd wake up just as she hung in the dream. This dream continued for several nights, but she said nothing.

One day, when it was only three days before Christmas, Vera had one last play date with Warren and Nancy.

"Hey!" giggled Vera as she felt the snowballs plummet on her back. "No fair!" She picked up as many of the snowballs as she had built and started throwing them back at Warren and Nancy. Warren, thankfully, had stopped chasing Vera and was now lusting after Nancy, who didn't seem to mind in the slightest. And although he had dropped _some_ of his disgusting habits, there were some he never seemed to grow out of: To this day, he still thought ladybugs and dirt made a fine cuisine.

"Truce!" cried out Nancy. "I call a truce!"

The three children fell over shrieking and laughing.

"Let's discuss the presents we got for our parents," suggested Nancy. "I got my mum a beautiful new scarf and my dad a lovely new watch."

"I got my mum a new cookie jar and my dad a new tie," said Warren.

Vera picked up an unused snowball and uneasily rolled it back and forth between her mitten-covered hands.

"Well, Vera?" prompted Nancy. "What did you get your parents?"

"Huh? Oh, I got my father a new pair of shoes with my mother's help," said Vera, looking down.

"And what did you get your mother?" asked Warren.

"I…got her a new necklace," muttered Vera.

"So?" said Nancy. "What is there to be ashamed of a new necklace?"

"I…um…stole it," muttered Vera.

Warren and Nancy gaped at her. "You _stole_ it?" repeated Nancy.

"Shush!" hissed Vera. "Your mum could call my mum if she's listening!"

Nancy said in a quieter voice, "Vera, you have to return that necklace. Otherwise, you could go to jail!"

"No, I won't," said Vera quickly. "Mr. Collins didn't notice that I took it. In fact, he's probably got lots of necklaces!"

"But won't your mum ask how you get the money to buy it?" pointed out Nancy.

Vera was at a loss for words. She hadn't thought of _that._

"I'd visit you in jail," said Warren kindly.

"Thank you," said Vera weakly.

* * *

Vera tried to get what Nancy had said out of her head, but couldn't. What if she was right? What if her mother asked how she had paid for the necklace? What if she figured it out? What if _Mr. Collins_ figured it out and had her arrested? Santa Clause giving her a lump of coal was the least of her worries.

On Christmas Eve, almost everyone had gone to bed except for Vera and her mother, who decided to stay up a few minutes more to gaze upon the Christmas tree.

"I can't wait till tomorrow," said Vera.

"Neither can I," said Mrs. Claythorne, surprising her daughter. "I suppose there's still some of childhood left within me. Holidays like Christmas tend to bring out the inner child in you long after you've left your childhood behind. That's one of the reasons I love Christmas. The other is getting to spend this time with the ones I love and reminding myself to be thankful for the family we have left." She hugged her daughter and said softly, "I'm so glad to still have you and your sister and your father here with me after losing half the family to the Spanish flu, and having your father's brother live in America. I thank God each day for blessing me with two beautiful, virtuous daughters."

Finally, Vera couldn't take it anymore. She said, "Mother, I have something to confess." She wriggled out of her mother's embrace and ran up to the Christmas tree and brought out the little box. She opened it and showed her mother the necklace.

"Why, Vera, you're showing it to me the day before Christmas!" exclaimed Mrs. Claythorne.

"We have to return it," said Vera, looking down.

"Why ever so?" asked Mrs. Claythorne.

"Because—because I stole it," whispered Vera, a lump forming in her throat. Her eyes remained glued to the floor during the silence that only lasted for about five seconds, but felt like an eternity to her. Then she heard her mother say, "You _stole_ it?"

"Yes," muttered Vera. "From Mr. Collins' shop. I saw it and knew it would be the perfect gift for you, but I didn't have enough money, so I came back later and snatched it when he wasn't looking. I stuffed it in my pocket and went out."

There was another unbearable silence that lasted an eternity before Mrs. Claythorne said in a dangerously calm voice, "Go to bed, young lady. _Right now._"

Vera drudged up the stairs, her eyes not once leaving the floor.

* * *

The next morning, it was as though Vera's confession had never took place. The family had a very jolly Christmas morning opening gifts and roasting chestnuts around the fire. They went to the church to hear the tale of Jesus Christ's birth. They went home and had a big Christmas lunch.

It was after lunch that Mrs. Claythorne wanted to speak to Vera in private. "Vera, I've thought over what you told me last night," said Mrs. Claythorne. "On the one hand, you _know_ stealing is wrong. On the other, you were only thinking of getting a present for me and I can't punish you for that. So here's what we're going to do: Mr. Collins closes his shop on Christmas, but keeps most of his stock at home, so we'll go to his house after Christmas dinner and give him the necklace back."

"Does father have to know?" asked Vera.

"No, I don't think he has to, as long as you're truly sorry," said Mrs. Claythorne. "If you feel as though he has to, then we'll tell him, but otherwise I don't think it's necessary."

Vera decided it wasn't necessary either, since she knew her father was the 'spare the rod, spoil the child' type.

* * *

"Thank you again for understanding, Mr. Collins," said Mrs. Claythorne after taking Vera to Mr. Collins' home to return the necklace.

"It's no big deal, though it'll take quite some time before I can trust Vera again," said Mr. Collins. "She's a good kid, though; I have no doubt about that. Kids make mistakes all the time, but a lot wouldn't have been as honest as she was."

Mrs. Claythorne then began to walk down the country road with Vera. "Mummy?" said Vera. "I'm sorry for taking the necklace and for you not getting a present from me."

"Oh, Vera," said Mrs. Claythorne, bringing her daughter close to her. "Your honesty is the best present of all."

**A/N: Yeah, I know that ending was a little cheesy and sappy, but a cheesy and sappy ending seemed like the right way to end it. Also, if the story in this chapter sounds vaguely familiar, that's because I borrowed part of it from an old ****For Better or Worse**** storyline, back when Michael was a kid and Elizabeth was a toddler and April hadn't been conceived. It's been a while since I took out that particular FBW comic collection, but there was this one story where Michael wanted to get his mom a scarf for Christmas only it was too expensive so he shoplifted it and later on felt bad, except he didn't admit it to his mother; he tried to return it and (irony of all ironies) got busted for suspected shoplifting. When his mom came to pick him up, he told her the truth, and she said something similar to Mrs. Claythorne's last lines of this chapter. Any-hoo, I would like to say that that story is not mine and thanks to Lynn Johnston.**


	7. 1924

**1924**

Vera stared at the ten candles on her birthday cake intently, as she decided what to wish for, with her family (the only other member being Uncle James, since school was still in session for Fleta) eagerly watching. Finally, she made up her mind: _I wish to become the best swimmer in the world._ Her wish in mind, she blew out the candles.

Everyone cheered and Mrs. Claythorne began to cut some birthday cake. Because Vera was the birthday girl, she got the largest piece.

"You may be turning ten, but _I'll_ be twelve next month," bragged Evelyn. "And you remember what Mother and Father said, right?"

"Right," sighed Vera. Her parents had told her and Evelyn that they'd get to find out where babies come from on their twelfth birthdays, as well as certain events that would happen to their bodies over the next couple of years. Vera was curious to find all this out and was jealous that Evelyn got to know before she did.

Vera dug into her cake, but found herself enjoying it a little _too_ much because her fork slipped out of her hands and bounced onto the floor.

Vera sighed, got off her chair, and picked up the fork. She began to walk into the kitchen to wash it, but stopped and pressed herself against the wall when she overheard her father and Uncle James talking. She could hear Uncle James say, "Fred, she's ten years old. She's not a baby anymore. I think she's mature enough to handle the truth. And besides, we can't keep it from her forever, you know."

"I know, but I'd feel more comfortable waiting a few more years before telling her," said the voice of her father.

"Fred, if Lyle could hear you speak…"

"Don't make me out to be the enemy here, James. My daughters' safeties have to come here first, end of discussion."

"But Fred, I got a letter this morning saying that—"

"_End of discussion."_

* * *

Later that night, before going to bed, Vera felt the need to talk to her father in the living room.

"What was it you wanted to talk to me about, dear?" asked Mr. Claythorne as he sat down on the sofa, Vera sitting the opposite side of him.

"Father…I overheard you and Uncle James talking, when I went to wash off my fork," said Vera slowly. "Who's Lyle?"

The look on Mr. Claythorne's face did not waver. He calmly said, "He's no one, dear."

"If he's no one, then why would Uncle James get so upset about him?" asked Vera.

"Well…Lyle was your other uncle," said Mr. Claythorne slowly. "He died during that Spanish flu epidemic."

"Then why didn't you tell me when you were talking to Evelyn and me about how our other relatives had died?"

"Well, er…do you remember me reading in the paper about how although it had died out in our town, it was still spreading like wildfire everywhere else? Well, it was during those years he died. Yes, he just got really sick and died."

"Oh." Vera went to bed without another word, but there was a nagging feeling inside her telling her that her father hadn't been telling her the truth, or at least parts of it.

* * *

The next day, Vera's father said he'd take her out on a little trip, but he didn't say where. She was told that the ride to see him would be particularly long, so she took the current book she was engrossed in (Jane Eyre) with her. The car ride was so long that by the time they reached their destination, Vera had reached the part where the Jane and Rochester were about to get married.

When Vera looked up and out the window, she noticed they were at a cemetery. Why would her father bring her here of all places?

"Come with me," said Mr. Claythorne in an expressionless tone.

Vera got out of the car and followed her father, a shiver going down her spine. This was her first time she had ever been to a cemetery and needless to say, she didn't like it in the least. She felt as though the dead spirits were watching her everywhere she went, as though they were angry that she and her father were disrupting their peace.

Finally, Mr. Claythorne stopped at a tombstone. Vera was shocked to see what it read:

**Lyle Harold Claythorne**

**September 11, 1892—March 11, 1924**

"Your Uncle Lyle was the youngest child in my family," said Mr. Claythorne, sounding as though this were the first time he had ever told anyone this. "Your Aunt Alice came first, along with your Uncle James—they were twins, you see. I came along a few years later and sometime after that, your Uncle Lyle was born.

"The four of us had a relatively happy childhood together. Then one day, Lyle and James were playing too roughly and Lyle was pushed down on a pile of rocks. He needed a few stitches, but was okay physically after that. Mentally, we weren't too sure. He was awfully quiet for exactly six months. It wasn't until Christmas that we all fully realized the effect that little bump on the head. During Christmas dinner, he suddenly picked up the dinner plates and threw them across the dining room and bit anyone who tried to stop him.

"My mother—your grandmother, may she rest in peace—was reluctant to put him in an asylum. She insisted she would teach him how to properly behave, that he'd get better if he was well-loved and cared for." At this, his eyes misted. "Alas, this was a fatal mistake on her part. One day, my father had to go out on an errand and invited my siblings and me along. My mother insisted she'd stay home and take care of Lyle. When we got back…to this day, I _still_ can't quite describe the scene, other than my mother was lying on the floor, bloody and unconscious. It was then that my father—your grandfather, may he too rest in peace—put Lyle in an asylum and forbad us from making any sort of contact with him ever again, nor were we to mention him in a conversation.

"I believe I've already told you and Evelyn the story of how your mother and I met and how we fell in love over the course of the summer. One night, your mother and I were taking a simple, romantic walk on the beach, talking about our families, and—it just slipped out. I accidentally told her everything about Lyle. It wasn't until my mouth had stopped moving that I realized what I had said.

"Afterwards, I ran off the beach and all the way home, feeling quite ashamed. I was convinced your mother would be too horrified to ever speak to me again. To my great surprise, she came to me the next day and said she was impressed that I had told her something other people would be ashamed of mentioning, that it showed the virtue in my character. She also understood that what my brother did was by no means a reflection off _my_ character.

"Suddenly, she had never seemed more beautiful to me than in that moment. I knew then that this would be the woman whom I'd spend the rest of my life with. Later that night, I proposed to her, and the rest is history.

"Yesterday, your Uncle James and I were arguing over whether or not to tell you and Evelyn about Uncle Lyle. James wanted to tell the two of you because he felt partially responsible for Lyle being the way he is, but I wouldn't have any of it because I was worried about what might happen to you and Evelyn. It wasn't until this morning Uncle James gave me the news that I decided to tell you: A few days ago, your Uncle Lyle strangled himself with his bed sheets. So you see, I had been telling the truth--he _did_ get sick and die."

After that, the only sound that could be heard was the sound of the howling wind. Mr. Claythorne knew he didn't need to tell his daughter to get back in the car when he saw the look on her face. She slowly but silently walked back to the car with her father behind her, knowing she had just passed the mark of childhood and was narrowly stepping up into adolescence.


	8. 1926

**1926**

There was an awkward silence for about ten seconds before the twelve-year-old Vera slowly said, "So…in order to have me and Evelyn…you and father…_did it?_"

"Yes, we did," said Mrs. Claythorne unflinchingly, having dealt with this when she explained the facts of life to Evelyn two years ago.

"That's _disgusting!_" exclaimed Vera, wrinkling up her nose.

"Oh, you won't think it's all that disgusting when you get older," said Mrs. Claythorne. "In fact, you might even want to do it."

"No, never!" shuddered Vera.

"Good, that's exactly what your father would want you to say were he here instead of at work right now," said Mrs. Claythorne. "He strongly disapproves of pre-marital sex."

"Why?" asked Vera. "Why would he disapprove of it if that's what you and he did so Evelyn and I could be born?"

"Because, dear, not everyone is in love when they have sex," explained Mrs. Claythorne. "Some people will get drunk, sleep together, and never see each other again, which is a one night stand. Likewise, there are people who are paid to have sex to please someone. That's called a prostitute. People who are only after someone's body will often convince the person in mind that they really do care about you and then leave you after satisfying their lust."

"That sounds awful," said Vera, shocked that someone would use another person like that. "How do you know if the two of you really are in love?"

"The best way to know that, dear, is on your wedding night," said Mrs. Claythorne. "I was quite attractive as a teenage and had two or three boys lusting after me, but I kept my dress on and my legs shut and they eventually went after some other cheap whores—another name for prostitutes, though it's not a very nice term. Even when I met your father and fell in love with him, I knew better than to give it all up to him. On our wedding night, we gave our virginity to each other."

"Please, _don't!_" shuddered Vera.

"Oh, you're far too young to hear the details, so I'll spare you," said Mrs. Claythorne. "Our church also disapproves of pre-marital sex so by saving yourself, you're also respecting your fate."

At that moment, Evelyn came storming into the room, her face looking as though it had been attacked by bees. "Mother, _look_ at this!" she cried. "I can't go out with John looking like _this!_"

"I'm done explaining it all to your sister anyway, so I might as well help you out," said Mrs. Claythorne, getting up.

"No, mother, this is _beyond _help!" shrieked Evelyn. "This is horrible! I look like the ugliest woman on the face of the Earth and nothing you can do is going to help it!"

"May I at least _try?_" suggested Mrs. Claythorne.

Evelyn drew in a sharp breath before her shoulder fell and she muttered, "All right, _try,_ but it's not going to do any good."

As Mrs. Claythorne led Evelyn away, Vera sat there on her bed, still squirming at the thought of what she had just been told during the past ten minutes.

* * *

It was during a sunny day in July that Vera called her mother to her bedroom.

"Mother," said Vera slowly. "I don't know any other way to say this, but…well, my chest hurts a _lot_ lately, ever since that 'talk', and both sides are getting a bit swollen…"

"You're growing breasts," said Mrs. Claythorne, tears forming in her eyes.

"Yes, I am," said Vera, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable. "And I was wondering if maybe…we could…shop for my first brassiere?"

Mrs. Claythorne let out a gasp of delight. "I was about to ask you that tomorrow, dear," she said in a too-happy tone of voice, "but now that you've mentioned it, we might as well go today!"

Mrs. Claythorne and Vera walked down the stairs and towards the door. Mr. Claythorne was having two of his co-workers over so they could go on a fishing trip, so Mrs. Claythorne made it her job to cheerfully announce, "See you later, Fred! We're shopping for Vera's first brassiere because frankly, she's growing like a weed!"

"Mother!" gasped Vera, unaware that the horror had only just begun.

* * *

When Mrs. Claythorne and Vera arrived at the undergarments store, Mrs. Claythorne asked a nearby woman in a quite loud tone of voice, "Would you happen to know where the brassieres are? They're for my daughter, you see."

Vera felt the eyes of nearby customers prick right into her as Mrs. Claythorne led her off to the bras after being guided to them.

"First things first, we have to get you measured," said Mrs. Claythorne. "I've heard it's the newest thing to do to make them a bit more comfortable. Fortunately, I brought some measuring tape so we'll know what size you need. I don't think you'll need _too_ big a size, though, since you've just begun."

"Mother, could we _please_ take this conversation into a changing booth?" begged Vera.

And it just kept getting worse. By the time they got Vera's measurement, they still needed to find the right bra that fit her. As Vera was browsing through the brassieres, she heard a familiar voice that froze her to the spot: "Vera?"

Vera slowly turned around and saw Victor Locksmith, _the_ most handsome boy in town. He had crisp brown hair, hazelnut eyes, and a voice that had your feet frozen to the ground.

Her stomach twisted in knots, Vera gulped (or at least _tried_ to; gulping around such Gods was practically impossible) and said with a smile on her face, "Hullo, Victor. What are you doing here?"

"My mother works here," replied Victor. "What about you?"

Before Vera could answer, her mother came back with an assortment of brassieres and said, "Here, honey; I have some more stuff for you try on." She saw Victor and said, "So _you're_ the boy Vera keeps going on and on about! She fancies you, you know."

"Do you?" said Victor, with a grin on his face.

Vera felt her face turn the colour of one of the brassieres her mother was holding. She put her face in her hands and thought, _Would someone please shoot me?_

* * *

Nothing too drastic happened while trying on the brassieres, mainly because it was done in private. Vera found at least three that fit her and she and her mother were able to agree that would be enough for now.

Then came the time to pay for the brassieres.

While standing in line, Vera winced and clutched her cramping sides and aching stomach. She told her mother she was going to the bathroom, which was where she went. Her going-to-the-bathroom routine started off pretty normal: She pulled down her skirt and panties, sat on the toilet—and saw the bright red stain in her underpants.

Vera had to do a double take to make sure she really was seeing what she was seeing. And sure enough, she was. She had gotten her very first period. And to top it all off, she didn't have any 'equipment' with her.

Vera got herself cleaned up before rushing to her mother, who was still waiting in line (one of the customers was getting into a heated argument with the cashier about the ridiculous prices placed on the underwear), and whispered, "Mother…I think I've got my period."

"Your _period?!_" gasped Mrs. Claythorne.

The customer had stopped arguing long enough to listen to what was going on behind her.

"Mother, please, don't," muttered Vera, but her mother went, "I'm _so_ sorry I didn't bring anything! I just didn't think—oh my! You're a big girl now! You're a—you're a _woman!_ Here, use these napkins for now; we'll go out and buy some 'equipment' later." She hugged Vera tightly and loudly whispered, "You can get pregnant now. If you ever meet a boy you deeply care about, _do_ be careful!"

* * *

Vera was thankful to find out that the saying, "This too shall pass," was indeed true. The most humiliating experience of her life was over and done with, but she _still_ didn't truly feel she was becoming a woman.

When her period passed a week later (much to Vera's relief, as she hated walking around feeling as though she wet herself), Nancy approached her. "Vera, there's something I need your help with," she said. "You remember how I'm performing my violin solo tonight? Well, the person who was supposed to look after my little brother got sick and I _really_ want both my parents to be there tonight, but I don't want Oliver to be there because he _always_ tries to mess me up whenever I play the violin, so I was wondering if maybe you could look after him tonight?"

"If my parents are okay with it," shrugged Vera.

To her delight, they were. When Vera arrived at Nancy's house later that night, Nancy's parents gave her a list of instructions. When Vera saw Oliver, it was clear that he was ready to declare war on her. Vera smiled politely and said, "Hello, Oliver. You remember me, right?"

Oliver reached into his pocket and pulled out some mud. He took careful aim and threw it smack dab in the middle of Vera's face.

Vera smiled through the mud and said, "Indeed, I think you do."

* * *

Aside from that little incident, everything appeared to be going peacefully. This lasted until it was close to nine-thirty. Vera was reading her latest book (Pride and Prejudice) when Oliver came into the living room, grimacing and clutching his stomach.

"What's wrong, Oliver?" asked Vera.

Oliver then announced melodramatically, "I am going to die! I am poisoned by mushrooms!" He then fell to the floor, clutching his stomach and moaning in agony.

Vera felt a brief flick of panic, but she quickly told herself, _Stay calm. Mrs. Mullins said she kept the medicines on the top shelf of the medicine cabinet in the upstairs bathroom._

Vera told Oliver to stay where he was and she ran up the stairs and into the bathroom. She opened the medicine cabinet, her eyes darting back and forth between the aspirin, the castor oil (causing Vera to briefly cringe at oh-so-fond memories), the ipecacuanha wine—

Yes! That was _exactly_ what the instructions called for! Why Mrs. Mullins kept it in the medicine cabinet instead of on a proper wine rack (and in a regular medicine bottle with the label 'ipecacuanha wine'), Vera wasn't sure (then again, Mrs. Mullins wasn't exactly an extremely intelligent woman), but what she was sure of was what to give to Oliver and how much. Fortunately, it worked, and by the time the Mullins' came home, Oliver was sound asleep in his room.

Even so, Vera still felt the need to explain the incident to them. When she finished, she was sure they'd get angry at her for letting Oliver play outside in the backyard unsupervised, but to her surprise, his parents were incredibly kind. "Thank God there are baby-sitters like you in the world, Vera!" said a beaming Mrs. Mullins. "Most people would've panicked, but you kept your head and responded correctly. I'm going to recommend you to quite a few friends! You're a hero, young lady!"

And that was the moment Vera truly felt as though she was in the process of blossoming from a young girl into a beautiful woman.


	9. 1927

**1927**

Vera always thought that something exciting would happen on her thirteenth birthday. But so far, the most exciting thing that had happened all day was that Evelyn got a huge case of acne and spent the next three hours in the bathroom and refused to come out until it was time for cake. Other than that, things were pretty quiet.

Until it was time for presents.

"Oh my gosh, _thank_ you, Nancy!" gushed Vera. "I've _always_ wanted Little Women!"

Nancy beamed with pride and joy.

Warren came up to Vera and said, "I didn't have enough money to _buy_ you a present, nor did I have enough stuff to _make_ one. I did, however, have enough courage to give you this present." He then leaned in and surprised Vera with a kiss, which lasted for about five seconds, but left a stunned impression on Vera.

"Vera, I've liked you for the longest time, and I know you feel the same way, so will you go steady with me?" asked Warren.

Vera was shocked. She had recently begun to develop a crush on Warren, but thought his crush on her was a thing of the past…until now. "I…oh, Warren, yes!" burst out Vera, wrapping her arms around Warren.

Mrs. Claythorne was grinning from ear to ear, as though this was what she expected. Mr. Claythorne looked as though he was thinking, _What happened to the baby girl I once held in my arms?_

* * *

The next time Vera and Warren met up, Warren came over to Vera's house. The two went into the backyard and sat down by the pond, gazing into it and holding hands.

"I know this isn't very exciting, but I couldn't think of a good place for us to go," apologized Vera.

"It's all right," shrugged Warren. "I actually sort of like this pond. We don't have anything like it in our backyard."

"You know," said Vera slowly, "we could do something more exciting than just stare into the pond."

"Like what?" asked Warren.

Vera turned herself so she'd be at an angle where she could slide into the pond and did so. When Warren didn't follow, she grabbed him by the hand and pulled him in.

Vera (who was tall enough for the water to go up to her chest) plunged herself underwater and saw a confused-looking Warren. Vera put her hand in his and burst through the surface. Warren coughed and spluttered, "Are you _crazy?!_"

"No, but it seems like it," laughed Vera, who gave Warren a kiss.

* * *

"I never realized how beautiful the stars really are at night," commented Warren as he and Vera lay down on the grass in Warren's backyard after having supper.

"That's because you were too busy noticing how tasty ladybugs are," teased Vera.

"For your information, ladybugs are a fine source of protein," insisted Warren.

"Oh Warren!" exclaimed Vera. "I swear, _some_ parts of you never change!"

"Look, see?" said Warren, pointing up in the sky. "There's a ladybug."

"Really?" said Vera. "I thought it was the little dipper."

"No, I'm pretty sure it's a ladybug."

"Then again, I think it's Orion's belt."

"No, it's a ladybug."

"All right, yes, it's a ladybug."

* * *

Vera was taking a walk through the neighbourhood when she came across Nancy. "Oh, hello, Nancy," said Vera innocently.

"Hello, _Vera,_" said Nancy in an icy tone before walking away.

Vera couldn't say she was surprised by the way Nancy was treating her. She had been treating Vera like that ever since Vera and Warren got together almost a month ago. And who could blame her—she had fancied Warren for quite some time now.

Still, this didn't stop Vera from trying to make peace with Nancy: "Nancy, I love your dress! Where did you get it?"

Nancy spun around and snapped, "Read my lips Vera: You can have your pathetic ladybug-eater! It just goes to show how _desperate_ you are!"

Those words stung like the bee that had stung Vera on the nose nine years ago. How could Nancy say such cruel things? Weren't they still friends? Apparently, not, according to Nancy. Why should Nancy's crush on Warren affect their friendship? Shouldn't Nancy be _happy_ for her and find another boy?

Out of the corner of her eye, Vera noticed a group of boys coming her and Nancy's way. Vera suddenly remembered a secret Nancy had confided in her only a few months ago and decided to use it to her advantage. Vera said loudly enough for the boys to hear, "Oh, Nancy, what do you use to stuff your bra—tissues, or toilet paper?"

The boys stopped to listen to a potentially entertaining catfight.

Nancy blushed and said in an equally loud tone, "Nothing, Vera! It all just comes naturally to me!"

Vera knew that what she was about to do was cruel, but her anger and hurt towards Nancy overruled her conscience: Just as Nancy started to walk away, Vera stepped on Nancy's dress (which was made out of a delicate material) and Nancy's dress ripped off and fell to the ground, leaving Nancy in her underwear. Nancy shrieked and tried to run away, but then Vera tripped her and Nancy fell into a puddle that resulted from a rainstorm that had passed over fifteen minutes ago. When Nancy stood up, she was horrified to learn that her bra was now completely see-through, revealing the disintegrating toilet paper.

The boys stood there and howled and laughed while Vera smirked at Nancy and went on her merry way.

* * *

One week later, Vera and Warren met up in Vera's backyard. The two sat there awkwardly before Warren said, "So…I don't know how to say this, but…"

"Then let me go first," said Vera quickly, but the words couldn't come smoothly on her tongue: "Um…well…"

Then they both said it: "Let's separate."

"You think so, too?" asked Warren, surprised.

"Yes," nodded Vera. "I don't think there's a spark there anymore. The magic's gone."

"I guess you're right," shrugged Warren.

There was an awkward silence before Vera decided not to let the relationship end on a sour note and said, "What do you say we go get some toffee from the general store?"

Warren, glad to know he and Vera could still be friends, replied, "I would love to."

**A/N: Well, that was as exciting as watching paint dry (only much more quickly), lol! I didn't want TOO much to happen between Warren and Vera; they're only thirteen after all (and they're not the type of thirteen-year-olds who fool around), and besides, Vera doesn't care deeply enough about Warren to do something totally evil, like killing a child 8P. Things do get more exciting (and more cheeky) in the next chapter, I can guarantee that!**


	10. 1930

**1930**

Vera walked barefoot through the grass in her backyard, enjoying the beauty outdoors while Victor leaned against the fence. Vera had turned sixteen three months ago and was growing up to become quite the beauty. She wasn't glamorous like a movie star, but had the appealing cuteness of a girl-next-door, which was what brought Victor into her backyard.

"Well, Vera?" asked Victor. "Have you considered my proposal?"

"I have," said Vera dreamily, "and my answer is yes. I'd be more than happy to be your girlfriend!"

"Good," said Victor. He walked up to Vera and said, "Then we might as well take care of the first order of business." He put his arms around Vera's waist and drew her in for a kiss.

* * *

Not everything was all peaches and roses, however. Mr. Claythorne's career was beginning to suffer from the stock market crash. Even so, the family was still willing to allow Cousin Fleta to come back for another visit. This time, however, she'd be staying for the entire summer while her parents went off to France to celebrate their eighteenth anniversary.

When Fleta arrived at the house on the last day of June, it didn't take long for Evelyn and Vera to figure out how much she had changed. Her hair had grown out and was long and curly in a sexy way. She also wore a red, rather short dress that had some funny name Vera couldn't quite remember.

"_What_ are you _wearing?_" was Mr. Claythorne's first question when Fleta arrived.

"It's what's in style, Uncle Fred," said Fleta. "It's called a flapper."

"No, it's called a piece of fabric," said Mr. Claythorne. "Get upstairs and put on some _real_ clothes."

Fleta rolled her eyes and dragged her suitcase behind her as she walked upstairs.

Vera thought only one thing: _If Fleta's last visit was a riot, than this visit will be quite interesting!_

* * *

Vera was proven right within two days of Fleta's stay.

"I don't care if I'll get pimples; I want chocolate!" insisted Vera as she and Evelyn debated over whether or not to go buy a box of chocolates.

"Your face will break out and Victor won't want to kiss you," warned Evelyn.

"So?" said Vera. "If he really loves me, he'll see past my face and see who I am! Now could we _please_ go out for some chocolate?"

Evelyn sighed, "All right. It's your funeral. Just wait here and let me get my change purse."

Evelyn skipped up the stairs. She was back down within two minutes, with a shocked and disturbed look on her face.

"Are you all right?" asked Vera as she and Evelyn went out. "You look as though you saw a ghost."

"No," said Evelyn, shaking her head. "I saw something worse. Much, _much_ worse."

"What could be worse than a ghost?" asked Vera.

Evelyn looked both ways to make sure no one was listening and then whispered, "I walked in on Fleta and another boy…er…doing that thing mother and father did to create us."

"What?!" Vera stopped walking. "You're serious?"

"Yes!" whispered Evelyn, embarrassed. "I went into our room and suddenly remembered I had left my change purse in Fleta's room the other day while helping her unpack, so I went into her room and—well—Fleta was on top of something and first I thought she was looking for something and when that something moved, I realized it was a red-haired _boy!_ And Fleta saw me and she was exposing herself and—well, naturally, I felt _quite_ embarrassed, so I took the change purse, muttered that I was sorry for disturbing them, and came back down."

"Forget the chocolate," said Vera. "We're telling father about this at once!"

* * *

"Well, young lady?" prompted Mr. Claythorne at suppertime. "Have you anything to say for yourself?"

Fleta rolled her eyes and said, "Look, it was just the one guy, okay? I met a guy I really liked and decided I wanted to…do stuff with him."

"Are you aware the 'doing stuff' with other men before getting married is a sin?" asked Mr. Claythorne.

Fleta swallowed her mashed potatoes before saying, "I'm going to confession tomorrow. How's that sound?"

Mr. Claythorne sighed, "All right. Just don't let it happen again."

"I promise," said Fleta with a too-good-to-be-true smile.

Somehow, Vera had a feeling that it _would_ happen again.

* * *

Once again, Vera was proven right.

Mrs. Claythorne was putting the laundry up when she asked Vera, "Vera, could you please go up to Fleta's room and see if there's any dirty laundry?"

Vera ran inside and up the stairs to Fleta's room. When she opened the door, she started to say, "Fleta, mother wants to know if you have any dirty—"

She stopped when she saw Fleta sit up in bed next to a boy that didn't even remotely resemble Evelyn's description of the last boy Fleta had been with.

"Yes, Vera?" said Fleta calmly.

"Er," Vera's face grew hot, "may I please have your dirty clothes?"

Fleta picked up the clothes that had been removed and tossed them in Vera's direction. Vera picked the clothes up (and resolved to thoroughly wash her hands once she gave the clothes to her mother) and left the room. When she got outside, her mother said, "Fleta had dirty laundry, I see."

"Oh yes she did!" shuddered Vera.

* * *

"You _promised_ it wouldn't happen again," said Mr. Claythorne at suppertime, his knife and fork digging rather deeply into the steak.

"Can't people change their minds?" shrugged Fleta. "And besides, I'll just go to confession again tomorrow."

"How do I know that even then, you _still_ won't continue to do it?" asked Mr. Claythorne.

"You worry too much," scoffed Fleta. "And anyway, I'm done."

* * *

After Fleta had gone to bed, Mr. Claythorne decided to make a phone call to Uncle James. When he went upstairs to say goodnight to Evelyn and Vera, he looked as though he was in a sour mood.

"How did the call go?" asked Evelyn. "What did Uncle James say?"

"He said it's just a phase Fleta's going through and that in time, she'll stop," grumbled Mr. Claythorne.

"Did you tell him just _how_ bad it is?" asked Vera.

"I did," sighed Mr. Claythorne. "Even then, he insisted that she's only doing it for attention, especially since she's leaving the door unlocked, and that if we just ignore her, she'll get bored and find something _more_ self-destructive to do, like playing with matches—well, I'm exaggerating, but he doesn't understand the potential consequences of allowing Fleta to sleep around. He doesn't realize that if this behaviour continues, she might get pregnant or catch a disease."

"So what do we do?" asked Vera.

"Well, talking to her has no effect, so I suppose we have no choice other than to ignore her," sighed Mr. Claythorne. "I _could_ try to ban her from seeing another boy while she's here, but she'd try to find a way around it by meeting a boy somewhere else."

"So we're just going to have to put up with it?" groaned Evelyn.

"Afraid so," shrugged Mr. Claythorne. "Good night, girls."

* * *

And so it was that for the next few weeks, the girls had to put up with Fleta's promiscuity and ignore her loud moans and shrieks of delight from upstairs, though it proved to be very hard. They were able to escape for at least a few hours by going out somewhere.

After about two weeks, Vera went off to see Victor, whose parents weren't home.

"I'm sorry to be bothering you like this, Victor, but my cousin is driving me _insane,_" groaned Vera as she slumped down on Victor's couch. "I've had to sit back and put up with her sleeping with every boy in town for the next few weeks and I'm ready to pull my hair out. I _had_ to get out of that house."

"It's all right," said Victor, sitting next to Vera. "But you know what? I think I can help you forget all about it."

Victor and Vera then started to share a particularly strong kiss. Vera felt Victor slowly lower her body onto the couch…and then she felt one hand slowly scrunch up her skirt…

Vera stopped kissing and said, "Um, Victor, what are you doing?"

"I'm about to make love to you, that's what I'm doing," said Victor. He leaned in for another kiss, but Vera gently pushed him off and said, "Victor, I'm not ready."

"Why not?" asked Victor. "You like me, don't you?"

"Well—yes, I like you," said Vera slowly, trying to search for the right words to say. The truth was, she did like Victor, but when she was around him, her stomach didn't do flip-flops, she didn't see sparks, she didn't feel any magic. But how to say that? "Victor, I do like you…just not enough to give my virginity to you."

"Why shouldn't I be the one to take your virginity?" asked Victor. "Come on, why are you being so unreasonable about this?"

"I'm not being unreasonable," said Vera calmly. "I'm just not sure that we're _really_ in love, and I don't want to give my virginity to someone whom I'm not really in love with."

Then Victor used a line Vera was hoping he wouldn't use: "Vera, if you really loved me, you'd do this."

Vera was growing annoyed, so she said, "If you really loved me, you'd wait."

"Well, if you won't sleep with me, will you at least take your blouse off?" asked Victor.

"_What?!"_gasped Vera. She pushed Victor off of her and onto the floor. She shot up and said, "If you think I'm like my cousin, that I'm willing to do it to get boys to like me, think again. Go find some other whore to please yourself with, because as far as I'm concerned, this relationship is _over!_"

* * *

One week later, Evelyn and Vera decided to read Little Men and Jo's Boys respectively. Or at least, they _tried_ to; Fleta's pleasure sounds that were coming from upstairs kept distracting them.

"That _does_ it!" exclaimed Evelyn, who promptly slammed her book shut, took Vera by the hand, and marched up the stairs. She burst open Fleta's door and snapped, "Would the two of you at least have the decency to keep your pleasure to your—" She stopped when the face of the Fleta's latest victim looked up. "Selves," she finished.

"Why should we?" asked Fleta. "It's a free country; we have rights. I will, however, have the decency to introduce my catch-of-the-day: This is Richard Barclay. He and his parents are staying here for a little while before going back to London."

Vera rolled her eyes and started to head downstairs, but then she noticed Evelyn was still standing in the doorway, making eye contact with Richard Barclay. Vera marched up to Evelyn, grabbed her hand, and went downstairs. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you fancy him," commented Vera.

"Don't be ridiculous," scoffed Evelyn. "He's just another 'toy' for Fleta to play around with, and besides, he's going back to London, so therefore a relationship with him would be out of the question. And wipe that smirk off your face!"

* * *

Three days later, Vera felt as though she was on the verge of losing her sanity. Fleta was pleasuring herself with her latest victim upstairs, and Evelyn and her father were engaging in a screaming match downstairs in the cellar. Evelyn wanted to go to some fancy university to become either a doctor or a nurse and her father was trying to discourage her because it was nearly impossible for a woman to get into a decent medical school and Evelyn kept arguing that there were women in history who beat the odds—oy!

Finally, all that Vera had been told about being polite and patient slipped her mind. She leapt up from the sofa, marched up to the basement door, flung it open, and screamed, _"WOULD YOU TWO JUST SHUT UP?!"_

Vera slammed the door shut and ran upstairs. She flung the door open to Fleta's room and screamed, _"AND YOU, CAN'T YOU AT LEAST BE QUIET?!"_

Fleta and her latest victim looked up. Vera's stomach nearly dropped when she saw the boy's face: "Victor?" she whispered hoarsely.

"You yourself said it," said Victor, smirking. "You said 'go find some other whore to please yourself with'—and I did."

Vera was speechless. She silently closed the door and went to her room without another word.

* * *

Vera still wasn't speaking to Fleta two days later, prompting her mother to go, "Now, Vera, I understand why you're upset; I'd be upset too, but Fleta is only going to be here for a few more weeks and until then, you should at least be on speaking terms with her."

"Whatever," muttered Vera. "It's not like I _loved_ him anyway."

"It's just that you were still getting over him?" suggested Mrs. Claythorne.

"Yes," grumbled Vera. "Mother, should I have given it away to him when he wanted me to?"

"No, you made the right decision," assured Mrs. Claythorne. "You stood by your beliefs even when he tried to pressure you. Your father and I are very proud of you for that. It proves that you're not like Fleta. And one day, you'll meet a boy who will care enough about you to wait. It took me a while to find that boy, but I hung in there."

"And look on the bright side," added Mr. Claythorne. "I found a good partner in John Whitehouse. With his help, this family will get itself back on its financial feet in no time!"

At that moment, Fleta's daily groans that combined with another man's groans made it loud and clear that the two were having a great time.

"Wait a minute," said Mr. Claythorne, slowly getting up. "That voice sounds familiar…_way too familiar…_"

He began to march up the stairs. Sensing a potentially interesting argument, Vera followed. When Mr. Claythorne opened Fleta's bedroom door, Vera thought his jaw was going to fall to the floor. "John Whitehouse?!" he gasped.

A large man looked up with a goofy grin on his face and said, "Did I forget to mention that your family leaves a _lasting_ impression on me?"

* * *

"OUT!" barked Mr. Claythorne, who came close to literally kicking Mr. Whitehouse out the door. "AND DON'T YOU _EVER_ DARKEN OUR DOOR _EVER_ AGAIN!" He slammed the door shut and turned to face Fleta, who was wearing a bathrobe. "And you," he said in a voice that made it obvious he was on the edge of a nervous breakdown, "this is the last straw, young lady. I don't care _what_ your father says. I don't care if you're going through a phase. I don't care if you're doing this for attention. Whatever your motive is, I'll say this only once: As soon as you get home, you can fool around with as many men as you want, but as long you're under _my_ house, you'll follow _my_ rules, and effective immediately, there will be no more fooling around in your bedroom!"

"What makes you think I won't go off somewhere in public and do whatever I please?" challenged Fleta.

"Because from now on, whenever you go into a public place, one of us will go with you," was Mr. Claythorne's firm response. "And another thing: I've figured out how these men come in and out of your bedroom: You show them the drainpipe leading up to your window and convince them to come in that way. Well guess what? As soon as I am done talking, I am painting your window shut!"

"This is _so_ unfair!" yelled Fleta. "Wait till my father hears about this!"

"When your father hears about this, he'll see I was right all along," said Mr. Claythorne coolly. "And if he doesn't, then that's _his_ problem."

* * *

For the next few weeks, everything was relatively peaceful (aside from Fleta's constant muttering over how unfair the whole thing was). August proved to be more merciful on Evelyn and Vera's sanity. Now they could read or talk in peace.

It was towards the end of August things started up again. That was when Fleta started getting sick. Every morning, Evelyn and Vera would wake up to the sound of Fleta retching. At the time, they thought nothing of it; they thought she was either coming down with some sort of bug or making those sounds for attention.

One morning, Fleta said she was going for a walk around town—and specifically requested for Vera to come with her.

"Fleta, where are we going?" asked Vera.

"Somewhere where no one can hear us," was Fleta's response.

"But why?" asked Vera.

Fleta finally stopped behind a tree that was in a local park the two girls had begun to walk through. She looked both ways before looking Vera in the eye and saying, "I'm pregnant."

Vera could tell from the look on Fleta's face that those were words Fleta thought she would _never_ hear herself say. "Are you sure?" asked Vera.

"My period is late, God damn it, do you need anything else to make you more sure than that?" snapped Fleta.

"Periods can be irregular," suggested Vera, trying to make her cousin feel better. "I know mine were for the first two or three years before they finally got on track."

"Yeah, except I'm also having all the symptoms," said Fleta. "Didn't your parents tell you _anything_ about the symptoms?"

"No," said Vera. "Mother said she wanted me to discover the pleasures and pains of pregnancy on my own. I guess she figured that I wouldn't sleep around and therefore wouldn't need the information."

"I take it, then, that they didn't tell you about condoms, either?" asked Fleta.

"Actually, they did," said Vera. "Mother told me people used condoms to prevent a baby from being conceived if they weren't ready for a baby at the moment."

"Exactly, that's why I _always_ used one," said Fleta. "I don't know _how_ this could've happened if I always used a condom."

"Actually," said a nearby woman, "condoms aren't totally reliable. They _can_ slip off or tear and break."

"And this is your business how?" snapped Fleta.

"I'm just saying," muttered the woman, who walked away, embarrassed.

Fleta put her head in her hands. "I don't know _what_ I'm going to do," she moaned. "I can't do this. I'm only sixteen. I've got a _life!_ I can't let this baby ruin all that! My parents might understand, but Uncle Fred—oh boy, when he finds out, I'm finished! I don't even have the slightest _idea_ about who the father could be!"

"It could be the postman or the milkman," snickered Vera.

Fleta's face shot up from her hands. "You shut up!" she cried. "I learned my lesson, okay? You don't need to rub it in my face! Wait…Uncle Fred won't find out…because I'm not going to _have_ the baby. Vera, I need your help in something…"

"If it's money for a back-alley abortion, forget it," said Vera, who began to turn her back and walk away.

Fleta ran up to Vera and pleaded, "Please, Vera, just this once! I promise I'll pay you back!"

"Fleta, I can't help you with that_,_" said Vera, who couldn't believe Fleta was _suggesting_ something so evil. "It's murder."

"Vera, how is it murder if it's not even born yet? How do we know it can even feel pain?"

"You have other options, like you could give it up if you can't raise it."

"Yes, but even then, everyone would know!"

Vera stopped walking. "Well, then, how about this: I won't say anything to father and you can wait until it's time to go home and then you can tell Uncle James and Aunt Annemarie. If they're as understanding as you claim them to be, they'll help you out. How's that sound?"

Fleta paused and muttered, "That sounds good, I guess. But utter one word of it to Uncle Fred and you're dead, got it?"

* * *

This plan _almost_ worked perfectly…except for just one little hitch.

On the day before Fleta was scheduled to go back home, at dinner, Mrs. Claythorne said, "Fleta, after dinner, may I see you in private? There's something I have to ask you."

Stupidly, Fleta turned to Vera and snapped, "You _said_ you wouldn't say anything! You said I could wait until my parents picked me up to tell them about the baby!"

Oops.

"The _baby?_" asked Mr. Claythorne. "Do you mean to say you're _pregnant?_"

Fleta quickly realized her mistake, but didn't say anything. The look on her face told everyone at the table that she was guilty as sin.

"I _knew_ it!" exclaimed Mr. Claythorne, slowly getting up. "I _knew_ this would happen! I _tried_ to tell your father, but he refused to listen! How could you let this happen to yourself? How could you _disgrace_ the family like this? Do you even _know_ who the father is?"

"No," muttered a shame-faced Fleta.

Vera could tell the fight was about to reach its ugly rear, so she got up and went to her room without anyone noticing.

* * *

The next morning, Vera did not see Fleta. When she talked to her mother, she found out why.

"Your father has sent Fleta off to a convent," explained Mrs. Claythorne. "And when he called her parents and told them about her pregnancy, they agreed to it."

Now Vera was more convinced than ever that she _had_ made the right decision not to sleep with Victor. Otherwise, she might've followed the same fate as her poor cousin.


	11. 1933

**1933**

"Got the tickets?"

"Check."

"Luggage?"

"Check."

It was summer and nineteen-year-old Vera had determined to find Fleta as she had just remembered her recently and wanted to see how she was doing and Evelyn agreed to come with her. Neither of them cared that their father had told them no; what mattered was finding their cousin. Besides, it was too late to turn back; they were already at the train station.

"Ready, Vera?" asked Evelyn.

"More than I'll ever be," replied Vera.

* * *

When Evelyn and Vera reached their destination (St. Elizabeth's church in London), Vera's heart was pounding wildly. What would Fleta be like? Would she still be the harlot she was when she first arrived? Or would she be an uptight prude who insisted Vera and Evelyn change into more decent clothes (and they were wearing just standard dresses that weren't all that revealing)? More importantly, what about the baby? Was the baby born okay? Or did it die? Or did Fleta miscarry?

"Hello?" called out Vera as she and Evelyn walked through the hallow halls of the church. "Fleta?"

"Fleta's my mummy," said a tiny voice.

Evelyn and Vera turned around and looked down to see a tiny boy who looked no older than three. "Do you know where my mummy is?" asked the little boy. "I got lost."

"No, but we're _trying_ to find her," said Evelyn.

At that moment, a woman who looked like Fleta (but couldn't possibly _be_ her; she was dressed in far more decent clothes than the last time the girls saw her and her hair was up in a bun) came rushing up to the little boy. She stopped when she saw Evelyn and Vera. "Evelyn? Vera?" she whispered.

"Fleta!" gasped Vera. She gave Fleta a hug and said, "Oh, it's so good to see you! How have you been? Have you been sleeping around lately?"

"Oh no, I'm _quite_ past that phase!" laughed Fleta. "I see you've met my son, Matthew?"

"So this is your son," said Evelyn, bending down to Matthew's size. "We're cousins of your mummy. I'm Evelyn and the lady who just hugged your mummy is Vera."

"Hullo," said Matthew, who was quite oblivious to what was going on.

"Matthew and I were just getting ready to go home," said Fleta. "Do you want to come?"

"Home?" asked Vera. "Isn't _this_ your home?"

"The nuns finally let me out when I turned eighteen, but for one matter, I didn't have enough money to go back to the United States," explained Fleta. "And second, I've grown to love England too much to leave even if I had."

* * *

When they got to Fleta's house, Fleta had quite a lot to say about her life during the past few years, as though she had been _waiting_ to meet Evelyn and Vera again. She had been quite miserable during her first few weeks of staying at the convent, but eventually learned to deal with it. One particular nun helped her throughout her pregnancy and convinced Fleta that becoming a mother would be quite rewarding. On April the tenth, 1933, Fleta brought little Matthew Wilbur Claythorne into the world.

"And you're _sure_ you've broken your habit of sleeping with a different man everyday?" asked Vera.

"First of all, you're exaggerating," said Fleta, pouring herself more tea. "It was _not_ a different man everyday; it may have _seemed_ that way to you, but it was actually just one or two men each week. And second, hasn't it ever occurred to you that people can change? People change in one of two ways: They either change for the better, or for the worst. I'm sure you will someday, too, Vera."

"I hope it's for the better then," said Vera. "Also, is it just me, or does Matthew resemble Victor Locksmith just a tad?"

"That's what I thought so, too," said Fleta. "I hope there's no hard feelings over him anymore?"

"Of course not," said Vera. "Victor was just a silly crush I had. Now if he was someone I was actually in _love_ with, it would be a different matter."

"By the way, _have_ you fallen in love yet?" asked Fleta.

"Oh, I've met quite a few handsome young men, but I don't feel anything with any of them," said Vera. "I can't wait until the day I fall in love for real, though."

"I'm not sure if you really want that day to come," said Fleta cautiously. "I've yet to fall in love myself, but from what I've heard, love can drive someone insane."

"Why?" asked Vera. "It doesn't sound all _that_ bad. In fact, it sounds wonderful. And who are you to tell me this if you haven't fallen in love yet yourself?"

Fleta winced. "Touche."

* * *

Vera and Fleta took a walk through the park to get acquainted some more while Evelyn baby-sat Matthew.

"Remember the tricks we used to play on each other when we were younger?" asked Fleta.

"Oh yes," laughed Vera. "I especially recall the s-word incident."

"And I recall finding a dead frog in my suitcase," mused Fleta.

"For your information, it was _alive_ when I put it in your suitcase," pointed out Vera.

Before the two could talk any further, they heard a loud scream. Fleta and Vera ran towards the source of the scream—and found a pregnant woman who was clutching her stomach.

"Hospital," she breathed. "Get me to the nearest—hospital. Baby's--coming!"

* * *

Even when Fleta and Vera brought the woman to the nearest hospital, they decided to stay by her side.

"What's your name?" asked Fleta.

"Jennifer," said the woman when a particularly strong contraction ended. "Jennifer Hayes."

"I'm Fleta Claythorne, and this is my cousin, Vera," said Fleta.

Vera decided to pass the time by having a conversation with Jennifer: "So, Jennifer…forgive me if this question is too personal, but…where's the father? Did he abandon you, or were you raped, or…?"

"Neither," replied Jennifer. "I left him."

"Why?" asked Vera. "Didn't you want him to help raise the baby?"

"I did," sighed Jennifer. "But I overheard him talking to a friend of his. He said he _never_ wanted to be a father, that it may be a lifestyle for some men, but it just wasn't for him, that he doesn't want to be tied down for the rest of his life by a 'snivelling brat', as he puts it. I knew then that it was no good telling him; I thought he'd leave me if I told him, so I just said goodbye without an explanation and…left."

"So you figured that if you beat him to it, it wouldn't hurt as much," said Vera slowly.

"Right," said Jennifer.

"Where have you been living during your pregnancy?" asked Vera.

"With my sister and her husband," replied Jennifer. "I plan on raising the baby with them until I earn enough money to find a place of my own."

"You seem to be handling this a hell of a lot better than I did," commented Fleta.

"Well, from what you've told me, you were a month away from seventeen when you had your son," said Jennifer. "During those years, you're too young to be a woman but too old to be a child, so the idea of being a mother sounds terrifying. Oh believe me, the idea of becoming a single mother scares me, too, but I'm able to handle it better because, I don't know…maybe it's because I'm more mature and have had more life experience."

"How do you know the father would've left you?" asked Vera. "How do you know he doesn't love you so much, he'd make an exception just for you?"

There was a long pause before Jennifer softly replied, "I don't know. And I'm not willing to take that chance. It's too late, anyway."

"But you could always just write to him and ask him to at least send you child support money," suggested Fleta.

Jennifer shook her head. "No," she said. "I don't think he'd make a very good father, anyway; he's far too selfish and cowardly."

"Then what made you fall in love with him?" asked Vera.

"I'm not sure," said Jennifer slowly. "Love is a complicated issue, as I trust you'll learn when you're older. There is no rational explanation for love; it just _is._ Love is blind; it makes you see past someone's flaws and only the good parts of them and you'll find yourself justifying their flaws. I suppose it was how although he appears tough, deep down, he's a true romantic." She smiled at the memories. "I remember one time he led me into a park in the middle of the night and surprised me with a candlelit dinner on a picnic table, with one of his friends playing the violin nearby! Afterwards, he took me to his house and…we made love for the first of several times."

"That sounds _so_ romantic," sighed Vera.

"It was," nodded Jennifer. "I'll tell you this right now: Don't allow yourself to be swept away by the romantic scenario of love. It isn't all that grand; it can get messy."

Vera and Fleta stayed with Jennifer for a few more minutes talking about other things before a doctor came in and chased them out.

* * *

The next day, Evelyn and Vera had to leave for their hometown, but they gave Fleta their address so they could write to each other everyday.

During the train ride, a man who looked vaguely familiar sat down next to Evelyn and Vera. "Have we met somewhere before?" asked the man.

"Perhaps in another life," shrugged Evelyn.

"My family lives in London, you know," said the man. "I'm just going away on a business trip for a little while. Then again, I'm used to travelling around a lot. A few years ago, my family stopped in Torquay for a while during the summer and while there, I met some crazy girl who kept flashing her cleavage at me and I somehow wound up in her bed. There was one instance where two girls who looked similar to the two of you walked in on us. And the taller girl looked rather attractive."

Evelyn gasped, "Richard Barclay?"

**A/N: Meh, not the best I've done, but I'm saving all my creative energy for 1935, which is just two more chapters away! Yay! :-)**


	12. 1934

**1934**

Ever since that chance encounter on the train, Evelyn and Richard started seeing a lot more of each other. Everyday, Vera would hear of Evelyn's latest adventure with Richard: "Richard took me to a fancy restaurant," "Richard and I saw the latest Gabrielle Turl film," "Richard took me for a walk on the beach," etc. Vera was happy for Evelyn, but hearing of nothing but Richard irritated her.

One day, on the day after Evelyn's twenty-second birthday, the twenty-year-old Vera noticed Evelyn wasn't looking all that cheerful. "Evelyn, what's wrong?" asked Vera.

"Richard proposed to me last night," replied Evelyn.

"Oh, that's wonderful!" exclaimed Vera. "But why are you so unhappy about it?"

"I turned him down."

"_What?_ Why?"

"What if he's Matthew's father, Vera? I love him, but I don't think I could live with myself if I married someone who already fathered a child with another woman."

Vera rolled her eyes and said, "You're being stupid. There's a good chance Matthew's father is Victor; didn't you hear Fleta and me talking and noticing that Matthew resembles Victor somewhat? And besides, Fleta's already starting to see someone else, so I don't think she'd be _too_ heartbroken if she found out you were engaged to one of several men whom she slept with."

"Well, I suppose you have a point, but…"

"But what? Mother and father _adore_ Richard and it's hard to find a man whom father approves of. And we can't live off father forever now that he's out of a job."

Evelyn said slowly, "I'll think about what you've said."

"Good!" sighed Vera. "I hope you got the point!"

* * *

The next day, Vera was delighted to find out that Evelyn had indeed got the point; she had gone back to Richard and said she accepted his proposal. They were to get married on the last day of the year.

Evelyn and Vera had always believed a wedding was a wonderful occasion filled with happiness and love. What they were thinking of was the ceremony; the nine months leading up to the wedding were stressful and filled with tears and angry words. First, there was the Fleta incident. Evelyn knew her father wouldn't approve of Fleta and Matthew being there, but she gambled and sent Fleta an invitation. When her father found out, the two engaged in a screaming match that lasted for almost a month until Mr. Claythorne begrudgingly accepted that Fleta would be coming to the wedding.

Second, Vera was one of the bridesmaids, and was therefore obligated to never-ending dress fittings. It seemed that Evelyn wasn't satisfied with _any_ of the dresses Vera tried on. "No, that's not the right colour," "No, that makes your bum look big," "No, it doesn't fit in with the theme," etc. Vera was now beginning to wish she and Evelyn weren't sisters so she could strangle Evelyn. It wasn't until late November that Evelyn _finally_ found the perfect bridesmaids dresses (elegant, sleeveless black dresses) for Vera and two other friends of Evelyn.

And finally, Richard's parents kept turning the rare moments of peace into the common moments of war. For example, during the summer, Vera decided to get to know Richard better as they would become family real soon, so she went out to a movie with him. They both enjoyed the movie and chatted about it on the way out—which was when they ran into Richard's mother, who promptly accused Richard and Vera of having an affair. They quickly denied it and insisted they were just friends (and besides, Vera never had any real desire to be Richard's lover; to her, he was simply the brother she never had). Mrs. Barclay seemed to have believed them at the time, but then brought it up at dinner, resulting in the usual screaming match. Luckily, Evelyn understood Mrs. Barclay's tendency to jump to conclusions and later on told Vera that she knew she would never, ever betray her sister like that.

Both Evelyn and Vera had only one wish: That the wedding would be over and done with.

* * *

Christmas was relatively peaceful. There were no tears or fits of anger or screaming matches. Instead, there was peaceful gift-giving and gift-receiving. And for once, Richard's parents had grown tired of turning the peaceful moments into one of those melodramatic movies and didn't make a fuss about anything.

"You know, mother," said Vera to her mother as the two prepared Christmas dinner, "I'm happy for Evelyn, but I feel somewhat envious. I wish for my first love."

"I thought Warren was your first love," said Mrs. Claythorne.

"Oh no, Warren was just my first puppy love," laughed Vera. "And Victor was one of those silly crushes all teenage girls get. No, I long for real love, someone whom I'll want to spend the rest of my life with, someone whom I'll be willing to die for."

Vera half-expected her mother to say, "Now don't get so melodramatic, dear." To her surprise, her mother laughed, "Well, be careful what you wish for, because you just might get your wish!"

Vera didn't see why having this wish come true would be all that bad. Perhaps it was just because of the stress of the wedding that Mrs. Claythorne was saying this.

* * *

It seemed as though the day would never arrive, but at last, it did. Vera now found herself marching right behind Evelyn down the aisle at St. Joseph's church. It was hard to believe that there had been any tears or anger during the past nine months. Mr. Claythorne was won over the moment he saw his great-nephew and no longer made any fuss over Fleta being there. And earlier that morning, when Mrs. Barclay was about to make a spectacle over the fact that Vera's black dress was a little tight-fighting and would thus attract the attention of other men, Mrs. Claythorne finally plucked up the courage to say something that was incredibly out-of-character for someone like her: "Judy, shut the hell up." So far, Mrs. Barclay was obeying that command.

Yes, the magic of the wedding made it appear as though nothing stressful had ever occurred.

Finally, Mr. Claythorne reluctantly gave Evelyn away to Richard. Vera stood right beside Evelyn and with the other two bridesmaids. The minister began his speech. Vera's eyes casually wandered around the church—and quickly landed on a rather handsome young man who was staring right at Vera.

Before Vera could look away, she found herself staring right back. For a moment, it seemed as though all of time was frozen, that it was just her and the man. Something about him took Vera's breath away, making her feel slightly light-headed.

It was the cheering and applause that snapped Vera back to reality, causing her to realize that Richard and Evelyn had already said "I do," and were now ready to go back down the aisle. She followed, but kept turning around to catch a glimpse of the stranger.

* * *

Evelyn and Richard's wedding reception and dance occurred in the evening at a ballroom, to celebrate both their marriage and the upcoming New Year.

"I _still_ can't believe you're now Evelyn Barclay," commented Vera when they arrived at the ballroom.

"Neither can I," admitted Evelyn.

"And just think, you have me to thank for it," said Fleta. "If I hadn't slept around, you would've never met Richard, I would've never gotten pregnant, you would've never gone looking for me and re-met Richard, he wouldn't have proposed to you, and none of this would've happened, so you have me to thank for it."

"Thank you, Fleta, the egomaniac," said Evelyn, rolling her eyes.

Vera was about to say something else when a voice behind her said, "Excuse me, miss?"

Vera turned around and saw the handsome stranger standing in front of her. "Yes?" she breathed.

"I saw you at your sister's wedding," said the man, his voice soothing Vera's jumbling stomach. "You were one of the bridesmaids, I believe?"

"Yes, this is my sister," said Evelyn.

"How do you do?" asked the man. "My name is Hugo Hamilton. What's yours?"

"I'm Vera," said Vera, her stomach twisting in knots. "Vera Claythorne."

"Vera Claythorne, would you be willing to take the pleasure of having the first dance after the bride and groom's dance with me?" asked Hugo.

Vera nodded. "How about we sit next to each other until the time comes?" she suggested.

Hugo was satisfied with this, so the two sat next to each other and sat through the toasts to the bride and groom, and Evelyn and Richard's dance, until, at last, the other guests were permitted to dance. Hugo took Vera by the hand as the two slowly stood up and made their way to the dance floor. Vera's palms were sweating up a storm. She hoped Hugo didn't notice.

A slow song on the piano was playing. Hugo put his arms around Vera's waist and she around his shoulders and the two began to dance. Making an attempt at a conversation, Vera said, "So, what's your family like?"

"It's just me and my sister," said Hugo. "She was married for a little while, but then her husband died when she was seven months pregnant with my nephew, Cyril, who'll be turning eight in just two days, almost one. She's a very proud woman and insists on being called Mrs. Hamilton at all times, but she was willing to accept my help in raising Cyril in his manor—when his father died, he inherited the family fortune."

"Oh," said Vera, suddenly feeling as though her family was nothing worth talking about. "Well…my father lost his job to the depression recently, and my sister is now married as you can see…and I've been trying to find a job as a teacher, though it's hard to find a decent teaching position. And Evelyn is becoming a daytime nurse at a local hospital."

"You know," said Hugo slowly, "my sister's been looking for a governess to help us look after and teach Cyril. I might bring you up with her and see if I can get you a job."

"Oh, that would be _wonderful!_" said Vera. "I love children, and I guess it's the closest thing to a teaching job I'll ever have."

Later, when it was getting close to midnight, Vera told Evelyn all about what Hugo had told her (Hugo had to leave early to help his sister with getting Cyril to bed, as he often resisted with strong will).

"Don't take his word for it," warned Evelyn. "Some men will say anything to get in your skirt."

"But Hugo doesn't seem like that at all," insisted Vera. "In fact, he seems very charming."

"Well, good luck," sighed Evelyn.

At that moment, Richard's father announced that it was time for the ten-second countdown to 1935, a year that Vera was sure would be the best of her life, assuming Hugo kept his word.

"…5…4…3…2…1…"


	13. 1935

**1935**

Vera anxiously walked up to the Hamilton manor. It was big, though not quite as big as most rich men's manors. Although everything about it certainly suggested it was a manor, the atmosphere made it feel slightly more humble. The snow on its rooftops looked more like a white blanket than actual snow.

Four days ago, Vera received a phone call from Mrs. Hamilton saying that she was willing to accept Vera as Cyril's new governess and to start duty on this day, the sixth of January. The day was here and Vera was leaving home for the first time. She was glad to finally be out on her own and start life as an independent woman.

Now Vera was at the front door. Her stomach in knots, she knocked on the door. Suddenly, she began to have doubts. What if this was a mistake? What if Mrs. Hamilton didn't like her? What if Cyril didn't like her? What if _Hugo_ didn't like her?

Well, it was too late to turn back now, for Hugo had now opened the door. "Oh, hello, Vera," he said cheerfully. "It's a real pleasure to see you again! Why don't you come on in?"

Vera walked in and Hugo closed the door behind her. She hung up her coat on the coat rack and said, "My, this place is _huge!_ And yet, it feels so humble."

"I know," said Hugo. "That's what I love about this place. We—Cyril, rather—inherited it when his father died. This is where we've lived for the past eight years."

There was a question Vera was eager to ask: "Why were you at Evelyn's wedding?"

"I'm a friend of Richard's," explained Hugo. "I've known him for a few years. He's a good man, so I'm sure it will be a nice, long happy marriage for him and your sister. When he invited me to the wedding, I was reluctant to come at first, but I'm glad I came."

Hugo and Vera shared a smile—and a loud "BOO!" interrupted them.

Hugo and Vera turned around to see a small boy running away and giggling. A stout woman came out and said, "Oh, hello! You must be the new governess. I'm Amelia Hamilton. The little boy who was here just now is my son, Cyril. I hope he's not bothering you?"

Vera laughed, "Oh no, that's just children. You know how they are."

"Won't you come in the parlour and have some tea?" asked Mrs. Hamilton.

"Oh, certainly!" said Vera.

* * *

"…but why on Earth would she keep that in the medicine cabinet instead of on a proper wine rack?" asked Mrs. Hamilton.

The two women had been chatting for God knows how many hours about Cyril and miscellaneous things.

"Mrs. Mullins isn't exactly the brightest person in the world," said Vera.

"You know, I once resented that Hugo was friends with Richard," confessed Mrs. Hamilton. "Oh, it wasn't _Richard_; he's a nice fellow; it was his _parents._"

"Ah yes," nodded Vera. "I remember that during the nine months that led up to Evelyn's wedding, his parents kept driving me _insane._ They just _loved_ to cause trouble. One time, his father and my father got into a fight over, of all things, Evelyn's _bouquet!_ Mr. Barclay didn't approve of Evelyn's choice—chrysanthemums—because, as he saw it, people would think she was too poor to afford the traditional white roses. My father said that it was Evelyn's wedding and therefore, she had every right to choose her flowers, and the two fought about it. I got embarrassed to be seen in public with them, so I slipped away."

"His father is bad, but his mother is an absolute _nightmare!_" shuddered Mrs. Hamilton. "One time, I had her over for dinner, and she scolded Cyril for not putting his utensils on the proper side of his plate! I tried to remind her that it didn't really matter where the utensils went, but she insisted that it _did_ matter; otherwise, people would think Cyril was a filthy pig! And his table manners are actually _decent_ for a boy of his age!"

"She did that to my family _all_ the time!" laughed Vera.

"But I think that in the end, it was all worth it to get you as Cyril's governess," said Mrs. Hamilton. "Now go off and start your lessons with Cyril. I'm sure Hugo will help you on some days."

* * *

"Hey! No fair!"

It was a jolly snowy day and the weather was perfect for snowball fights, which was what Vera, Hugo, and Cyril were having.

"Take that!" cried Cyril, throwing two snowballs at Vera.

Hugo dived in front of Vera, getting hit by the snowballs, and clutched his heart. "Alack!" he cried out. "I die!"

He fell down laughing and got up to make some more snowballs.

Vera smiled, but only thought, _He's probably just playing along; it might not mean anything._

* * *

On Valentines Day, Vera was teaching Cyril how to play the piano.

"_Almost,_ Cyril, _almost,_" encouraged Vera.

"Why do I have to learn that star song, anyway?" grumbled Cyril.

"Music is an entirely different language than any human language," explained Vera. "In order to understand it, you need to learn how to play it."

At that moment, Hugo came into the parlour with something behind his back. "Forgive me for interrupting the lesson," he said. "I used some of the money I've earned at work to buy Miss Claythorne a special gift."

He walked up to Vera and gave her a box of chocolates.

"Oh, Hugo, _thank_ you!" said Vera, happy to know that Hugo remembered her favourite type of sweets.

"Wait," said Hugo. He took a few more steps forward and said, "I think I'm forgetting something." He slid his arm around Vera's waist, drew her in, and kissed her.

Vera felt a slight tremble within as she closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around Hugo. At last, now she knew Hugo shared the feelings she had for him! Much like the time they first saw each other at Evelyn's wedding, it seemed as though all of time was suspended, that this moment was lasting for an eternity. This wasn't like _any_ of her other kisses. This one felt as soft and sweet as honey. This was her first _real_ kiss.

At last, they separated. Vera and Hugo made eye contact and smiled. Vera knew that she and Hugo would be seeing a lot more of each other during her free time from that moment on. For the time being, she had to get back to teaching Cyril how to play the piano, so she did, though she felt euphoric as she did so.

* * *

Two weeks or so later, after Cyril was put to bed, Hugo took Vera out for a walk outside, where they talked about various things in their lives.

"I'm really sorry to hear you were let go," said Vera after talking for about fifteen minutes. "You're not bitter that Richard was kept, though, are you?"

"Oh no, of course not," said Hugo quickly. "Richard and I have been friends for years, so I can't hate him. I can, however, hate his parents without the slightest bit of guilt! They've caused nothing but trouble!"

"Oh, I could write an epic _serial_ based on all the trouble Richard's parents have caused during the planning of Evelyn's wedding!" laughed Vera. "His mother doesn't seem to like _me_ in particular. She's against everyone, but I'm the one she loves to torment the most. If I told you of _all_ the things she's done, we'd still be here by breakfast time tomorrow, but I might as well give you an example of one of her gems: First of all, you have a sister, so you know about periods, right?"

Hugo nodded.

"Well, I sometimes gain just a _little_ bit of weight when it's just a few days or so before that special time of month. During one of the never-ending dress fittings in August, it was just a few days before my 'visitor' was expected. Evelyn made the fatal mistake of inviting Mrs. Barclay along for the dress fittings so she could get a second opinion on the dresses, and I suppose I tried on some dresses that were somewhat tight. Mrs. Barclay didn't say much at the time, but later that night at dinner—which was always her _favourite_ time to create problems, I must add—she announced that I was pregnant and Richard was the father!"

Hugo burst out laughing, which annoyed Vera just a bit. "Sorry," apologized Hugo. "It's just so funny because I can't picture _you,_ of all people, as a home wrecker! You're just too virtuous for that!"

"Thank you," said Vera, feeling somewhat flattered that Hugo would never suspect her of doing something like that. "As you'd expect, this resulted in a fight—not with fists or weapons, though it came pretty close to that—and it _really_ angered me because she had accused me of having an affair with Richard before. Luckily, my parents and Evelyn took my side, because they understood I'd never do something like that. She wouldn't let go of the issue, not even when I got my period a few days later. Even then, she _still_ accused me of lying, so I actually had to go to a doctor and be examined to prove that not only was I not pregnant, with my period and all, but that I was still a virgin! It was _so_ embarrassing!"

"Did she let go of it then, or did she insist you slept with the doctor to get him to lie for you?" asked Hugo.

"No, she let it go after that, thank goodness," sighed Vera. "And Evelyn learned her lesson and stopped inviting her for dress fittings."

Hugo chuckled, "And you actually worried your family would _bore_ me."

"_You're_ the one who lives in a manor with your sister and nephew, who inherited a fortune," pointed out Vera.

"Yes, but _you're_ the one whose cousin slept around," pointed out Hugo.

Vera's eyelids slowly drooped. She blinked to keep them from falling. "I feel tired," she yawned. "I think it's time we went to bed—no, that's not what I meant," she said quickly, realizing what she had said. "I meant—"

"I know what you mean," laughed Hugo. "I feel deadbeat."

* * *

Hugo escorted Vera up to her room. He opened the door for her like a gentleman, but before she went in, the two shared a goodnight kiss that, like all their kisses, seemed to last for a blissful eternity.

When they finally parted, Hugo whispered in Vera's ear, "Good night, Vera."

"Good night, my darling," Vera whispered back.

Vera gave Hugo once last glance before closing her bedroom door. Vera walked up to her bed, feeling as though she was drifting away on a fluffy cloud. She fell on the bed and hugged herself tightly.

She had no doubts about this feeling. She was in love. And this wasn't a silly crush, this was _real _love. She knew that Hugo was _the_ man for her. He'd be the man whom she'd marry, give her virginity to, have children with, and grow old with. She knew that she'd _die_ if she couldn't have him.

* * *

On Vera's twenty-first birthday, her parents and Evelyn came over to the manor to celebrate. Vera was both excited and nervous, for this was when she intended to properly introduce them to Hugo.

"Mother, father," said Vera, bringing Hugo forward. "This is Hugo Hamilton. He and I are dating."

"What did I tell you?" said Mrs. Claythorne with a twinkle in her eye. "Be careful what you wish for! How do you do, Hugo?"

"Just fine, thank you," said Hugo.

Vera smiled to herself. She could tell Hugo and her parents would get along just fine.

* * *

Once all Vera's family had left and Cyril was in bed, Vera and Hugo began to share an intense making out session in Vera's room (but they both agreed not to take it any further than that). When they finally separated for air, Vera felt the need to say something, "You know, Hugo, I can't help but feel that something _quite_ eventful will happen very soon, something that will have an impact on me for the rest of my life."

"Perhaps we'll stumble across a gold mine while taking a walk one day and I'll come into a fortune and be able to marry you," suggested Hugo.

Had she heard that right? "Marry me?" Vera sat up straight on the sofa she and Hugo were sitting on. "Do you want to marry me?"

"Of course," said Hugo, putting a strand of hair behind Vera's right ear. "When I come into a fortune. In the mean time, there are just three words I want to say: I love you."

Hearing the words she wanted to hear gave Vera the courage to say the words she had been longing to say for quite some time: "I love you too, darling."

And the two resumed their making out session, which lasted until Cyril (who had been searching for Vera to request a glass of water) splashed a pitcher full of water onto them.

* * *

It was a particularly beautiful afternoon in April when Vera suggested going for a walk with Hugo (Mrs. Hamilton was taking some time off from her job to be with Cyril). They had only made it to the door when Cyril whined, "Uncle Hugo! Will you play hide-and-go-seek with me?"

"Can't you ask your mummy to do that?" asked Vera.

"Mummy's taking a nap," whined Cyril.

"Well, I suppose I could spare five minutes," said Hugo. "I'll go hide, and you go seek, how's that sound?"

Cyril's face brightened up. "Sounds swell!"

Hugo gave Vera an apologetic look before going off somewhere to hide while Cyril closed his eyes and began counting: "One…two…three…"

Vera felt a pang of envy. This wasn't the first time incidents such as this occurred, so Vera no longer scolded herself for feeling envious. She bitterly thought, _Apparently, that spoiled brat comes first and I, the love of Hugo's life, come second!_

Vera was startled by this thought. Although she occasionally felt impatient with children, she had never gone so far as to call them 'spoiled brats', not even mentally. She usually reminded herself that children, faulted as they were, didn't know any better and simply wanted attention. This, however, was different.

Vera pursed her lips. Yes, she would be talking to Hugo about this.

* * *

It was a nice, warm day on the thirteenth of July, making an outdoors celebration ideal for Hugo's twenty-fourth birthday. It wasn't a huge, fancy celebration that came with an endless list of guests, but it was a very happy occasion. Afterwards, Hugo and Vera took a stroll down to the nearby beach.

The sea was calm and still, making the rocks appear as mere decorations amidst it.

Hugo and Vera stood there, holding hands, gazing out at the moonlit sky which cast an everlasting reflection into the sea below. Then, they slowly turned to face each other. Hugo wrapped his arms around Vera and held her close. The Atlantic air and Hugo's pleasant-smelling cologne filled her nostrils and she inhaled these smells deeply.

"I love you," Hugo whispered softly in her ear, "I love you. You know I love you, Vera?"

"Yes, I know," whispered Vera.

Hugo and Vera began to share a passionate kiss. Their hands linked—and then Hugo parted. "I can't ask you to marry me. I've not got a penny. It's all I can do to keep myself." He looked out at the ocean. "Queer, you know, once, for three months, I had the chance of being a rich man to look forward to. Cyril wasn't born until three months after Maurice died. If he'd been a girl…"

Hugo turned back to Vera and admitted, "I hadn't built on it, of course. But it was a bit of a knock." He shrugged. "Oh, well, luck's luck! Cyril's a nice kid. I'm awfully fond of him."

This time, it was Vera's turn to wistfully gaze out at the everlasting sea. Hugo might not have minded, but she did. If only there was a way! But then, the only way was to kill Cyril…

_No, get that thought out of your head,_ Vera mentally scolded herself. _That's too evil! How can you think such a thing?_

Vera turned to face Hugo and smiled. "I'm feeling tired," she said. "I suppose we should head back up to the manor."

* * *

Not even her usual goodnight kiss (or make-out) from Hugo could quench the frustration Vera felt. To him, Cyril's money was a mere obstacle that could be waited out; to her, it was pure torture. She had _never_ wanted anything so badly in her entire life. All she wanted was just to marry Hugo. Just that, and her life would be complete.

The thought that they could just get married anyway crossed Vera's mind once or twice, but she told herself, "Be realistic: Jobs are getting scarce to find, and living together, never mind children, requires both time and money. How could you and Hugo live together and raise a family if neither one of you can find a good job?"

Oh, how it ate away at her soul! She _wanted_ Hugo, and yet couldn't _have_ him. Her frustration turned to anger towards Cyril. Horrid, whiny spoiled brat! If it weren't for him, she'd be able to marry the man she loved! Then again, Cyril was a puny child, one who might not live to grow up. Perhaps she could just wait for him to come down with pneumonia or typhus during the winter…?

_No!_ She wasn't sure if she could wait until winter to be able to marry Hugo! And besides, Cyril had seemed to survive this year's winter just fine without getting sick.

Vera poured out all her frustration and anger into her diary, but not even that could satisfy her feelings. She angrily sighed and fell back on the bed. Well, at least she'd be able to relax when she went to St. Tredennick with the Hamilton's on the nineteenth. The Hamilton's went there every year and this was her first year going with them, as she recalled talking about with Hugo on one of their previous dates: _"We go there every year—oh, Vera, you should see it! It's one of the most beautiful beaches you'll ever see! Although it's months until we go there, I might as well tell you this now: Every year, ever since Cyril could walk and talk, Cyril has always been begging my sister and me to allow him to swim out to the rock, but we keep telling him no—it's too far out, and his lungs aren't all that strong, and he'd surely drown before he got there."_

"_He'd surely drown before he got there…"_

An idea slowly began to form itself inside Vera's head—one that she had deemed 'too evil'. "If love is involved, _nothing_ is too evil," she whispered to herself, and so she did not suppress the forming idea.

"_I trust, then, that y__ou'll help my sister and I prevent Cyril from going out to the rock?"_

Yes, that was part of her job: To prevent Cyril from going to the rock.

_Wouldn't it be a real shame if my attention got distracted for a second and Cyril swam out too far and by the time I realized what was happening and got out there, it was too late?_

Vera had to keep blinking to keep herself awake. She yawned. She was too tired to think out the rest of the plan now, but she would tomorrow. She wrote down her idea in her diary, got changed into her nightgown, and fell asleep almost as soon as her head hit her pillow.

* * *

The next day, Vera hadn't forgotten the plan. Now that she was more awake, the plan could better form itself in her head. She spent almost the entire day thinking about the plan, but there was one, small hitch to it, and she couldn't quite figure out how to fix it.

It was at supper that this hitch was fixed: "Everyone?" said Hugo. "I have something important to announce."

All attention fell on Hugo as he spoke: "During our vacation, I will be leaving on August the eleventh. I will be going up to Newquay to find a job so I can earn enough money to be able to marry Vera and support her." His hand lightly rested on Vera's hand at this part.

Vera was feeling quite elated, though not for the reason Hugo thought. "We'll all miss you, but good luck," said Vera, smiling.

After supper, Vera went upstairs to her bedroom and plotted out the rest of her plan: During the first few weeks, whenever Cyril would ask to swim out to the rock, Vera would say no, but on the eleventh day of August (the day Hugo would be leaving), she'd give him permission to swim out to the rock. She would wait for a few minutes and then swim out after him when he was far out. Cyril would surely go under by the time she got there. Cyril's mother wouldn't be there to interrupt her plan because two pieces of veronal would 'conveniently' find themselves in her morning tea. And nobody would ever suspect a thing. It was the perfect plan.

A sudden thought struck Vera: _What if your conscience prevents you from doing it at the last second?_

_It won't,_ thought Vera. She then repeated a mantra inside her head: _You will show no mercy. You will feel no remorse._

"You will show no mercy, you will feel no remorse," she said out loud.

_I promise I'll never kill anyone for any reason at all, mummy._

"Not every promise was meant to be kept," said Vera coldly.

And besides, that was the old Vera, the young, naïve Vera who couldn't understand why anybody would do something so horrible. This was the new Vera, the Vera who could now justify her own reasons for committing 'murder'—but how could it be murder if she wasn't laying a hand on Cyril? And it wasn't murder in cold blood. She wasn't doing it without reason, or without human reason; she was doing it so the man she loved would inherit the boy's money and be able to marry the woman he loved. How could that be considered to be less than human? And besides, Cyril was a puny child; he wouldn't live to grow up anyway, so she was sparing him the harsh reality of dying a slow death from, say, pneumonia.

No, this wasn't murder.

This was justice.

* * *

Vera got lost in her thoughts as she practiced slow but fast strokes in the water in the beach, the plan going over in her mind. It seemed so perfect—so perfect…

_What if something goes wrong?_

Vera swam back to shore as she realized the possibility she overlooked. What if something went wrong? Cyril might be rescued in time. And then—then he'd say _"Miss Claythorne said I could."_ Well, what of it? One must take _some_ risk! If the worst happened she'd brazen it out. _"How can you tell such a wicked lie, Cyril? Of course I never said any such thing!_ They'd believe her all right. Cyril often told stories. He was an untruthful child. Cyril would know, of course. But that didn't matter…and anyway, nothing _would _go wrong.

* * *

St. Tredennick was indeed every bit as beautiful as Hugo had described: The rocks were as dark as midnight and the sand was the colour of freshly peeled corn. And right there, far out in the middle of the ocean, was the rock Cyril wanted to swim out to. Now Vera could see why he was forbidden to swim out to it; it was _much_ too far out for Cyril to make it.

For the first few weeks, Vera had to hear Cyril whine, "Miss Claythorne, why can't I swim out to the rock?"

And each day, Vera would calmly and patiently reply, "It's too far," knowing that Hugo and Mrs. Hamilton were observing her closely.

Each night, Hugo would take Vera down for a stroll to the beach and they would kiss passionately like there was no tomorrow, to remind Vera who she was doing it for. There were times where they were tempted to take it one step further, but common sense would prevail.

Finally, the night of August the tenth arrived. Vera and Cyril were on the beach. It wasn't _too_ dark outside and Vera had been willing to take Cyril for a brief stroll before going back inside.

Once again, Cyril whined, "Miss Claythorne, why can't I swim out to the rock? I can. I know I can."

A voice that Vera didn't quite recognize as her own answered, "Of course you can, Cyril, really. I know that."

Cyril's face started to brighten up. "Can I go then, Miss Claythorne?"

The voice continued: "Well, you see, Cyril, your mother gets so nervous about you. I'll tell you what. Tomorrow you can swim out to the rock. I'll talk to your mother on the beach and distract her attention. And then, when she looks for you, there'll you'll be standing on the rock waving to her! It _will_ be a surprise!"

Cyril laughed, "Oh, good egg, Miss Claythorne! That will be a lark!"

Cyril's laughter brought up a brief pang of guilt—but it was only for a second or two. "In the mean time, let's go to bed," said Vera. "It's getting dark. Uncle Hugo will be going to bed soon. You still want to say goodbye to him, don't you?"

* * *

Vera woke up the next morning to feel something soft and light touch her cheek. Her eyelids fluttered open and she saw Hugo standing above her, all dressed up and ready to go to Newquay. He put a strand of hair behind Vera's ear and said, "Goodbye, Vera. I love you."

"I love you, too, dearest," whispered Vera. _That's why I'm doing this._

Once Hugo left, Vera got out of bed and changed into her bathing dress. She opened the door ever so slightly and snuck down to the kitchen, the two pieces of veronal in her left hand. She saw the morning tea that had been prepared for Mrs. Hamilton. When she was absolutely sure no one was watching her, she dropped the pieces into the tea and carried it up to Mrs. Hamilton's room (after giving the servant orders to take the day off).

"I say, that was kind of you," remarked Mrs. Hamilton as she sipped her tea when Vera brought it up to her. "Bessie has been overworking herself for the past few weeks and deserves the break. You're a good person, you know that?"

Vera nodded without saying a word.

Mrs. Hamilton yawned, "Well, I suppose Cyril might be up by now. Why don't you go check on him?"

"I will," promised Vera.

Mrs. Hamilton's eyelids slowly drooped and soon, she was fast asleep.

Vera silently crept out of Mrs. Hamilton's room and closed the door. She then walked down the hallway towards Cyril's room. She lightly tapped on the door and whispered, "Cyril?"

There was a brief pause before Cyril opened the door in his bathing gear, as though he had been waiting for her all this time. "Yes, Miss Claythorne?" he said eagerly.

Trying to hide the malicious intent in her smile, Vera asked, "Do you still want to go out to the rock?"

* * *

When Vera and Cyril got down to the beach, it was relatively calm. There wasn't anyone around except the two of them. The water was beginning to get a little rough, which was evidenced by rough sound of it violently crashing against the rocks.

"May I go now, Miss Claythorne?" asked Cyril eagerly.

The smile crept back onto Vera's face. She was able to disguise it as a warm, friendly smile as she uttered the seven deadly words: "You can go to the rock, Cyril."

Cyril beamed and ran out into the water and began to swim.

Now Vera allowed the smile to become malicious. She sat down in her chair and began to read her diary, the plan going over in her mind. So far, nothing was going wrong, which surprised her; she had expected _something_ to happen out of the ordinary. And so far, she was feeling no mercy towards Cyril, or remorse for the words that had sealed the child's fate.

Vera looked up and saw Cyril swim out further, further…

"Miss Claythorne!"

Vera pretended to have just noticed. She snapped her journal shut, wrapped it up in a blanket so she could get it later, ran into the sea, and began to swim out. She began cleaving her way through the water, using slow, practiced strokes.

She was getting closer, but it would be too late by the time she arrived and she knew it.

Cyril kept coughing and spluttering, his head bobbing up and down…and then disappearing, just like that.

By now, Vera had gotten close to the spot where Cyril had vanished, but it was too late and she knew it.

It was done.

Suddenly, a rough current carried her out to sea. Vera just floated there, patiently waiting for a nearby fisherman to rescue her, prepared to act hysterical.

After what felt like hours, she saw a nearby fishing boat. She began screaming, "HELP! SOMEONE HELP!"

The fisherman had heard her screams and began rowing towards Vera as she continued to scream. When he got close to her, he reached out his hand and said, "Take my hand, miss."

Vera took his hand and he pulled her up into his boat. She began sobbing hysterically and babbled, "Cyril—Cyril—he—I—I was watching, I swear, but—but—I—g—got distracted for a s—s—second, I swear, and—oh God, it was _awful!_"

"Calm down, miss," said the fisherman gently as he put a blanket around her. "I'll alert everyone on the coast and we'll rescue the boy. In the mean time, I'll take you back to shore, how's that sound?"

As the fisherman slowly rowed away, Vera's eyes never once left the spot where Cyril had vanished, as though she was expecting him to come back to the surface.

He didn't.

* * *

The rest of the day was a blur; interviews with the police, identifying bodies—all of it was just one, big blur to Vera, so she was surprised when she found out it was evening and she could finally go back to the vacation home (she had gotten her diary off the beach earlier).

When Vera came home, she saw Mrs. Hamilton sobbing hysterically while being comforted by two police officers. Vera shyly stepped forward and said softly, "Mrs. Hamilton?"

Mrs. Hamilton sobbed, "My baby—my poor baby—" She saw Vera. "Oh, it's not your fault, dear, but—"

Mrs. Hamilton then pushed the police officers off of her, ran into her room, and refused to come out.

Vera was escorted to her room and, for the first time all day, she was finally left alone to sort out her feelings.

Vera lay on her bed and listened to Mrs. Hamilton's sobs. She had expected herself to feel _something,_ whether it was guilt over what she had done, or relief that she'd be able to marry Hugo now—but she didn't. She couldn't. She felt no emotions. She felt like a hollow, empty shell. Like a body without a soul.

Vera hoped that writing it out in her diary would help her feel—but not even that could set off any kind of emotion. The whole thing didn't even feel real. It felt as though she had been watching over someone else committing those actions, saying those words.

Vera got up and changed into her nightgown. She once again lay in bed. Mrs. Hamilton's sobs had now quieted down somewhat. Vera stared at the ceiling, the events of Cyril's death playing through her head, until she somehow fell asleep.

* * *

The day of the Coroner's inquest had arrived. So far, everything was going quite well; the Coroner appeared to be believing every word she said and did not find anything peculiar about her version of what had happened: Cyril wanted to swim out to the rock, she said no, she got distracted for just a second, turned around, and saw Cyril swimming out to sea, so she swam after him, but by the time she got there, it was too late. She even heard murmurs of pity as she pretended to break down sobbing.

_If I were an actress, I'd win the Academy Award for Best Actress,_ thought Vera as she pretended to dab her face with a handkerchief.

As the Coroner began to take his turn to talk, Vera decided to pass the time by seeing who had come. Her eyes immediately landed on one person: Hugo. She looked him straight in the eye.

At first, Hugo had a normal expression. Then, he got a queer, far-off look. When it did not change, Vera turned back to the Coroner, who ordered a half-hour recess.

Vera slowly got up and walked straight ahead of the crowd. She had only begun to feel something yesterday: Relief. No one suspected her of anything and Hugo had now inherited Cyril's fortune and would thus be able to marry her.

Vera leaned against the wall, suddenly feeling a bit drained. She couldn't wait for the inquest to be over so she could go home (during the past few days, she used the money she had earned to buy herself a small but liveable house) and just rest. But perhaps she'd talk to Hugo first, since she saw him.

"Vera?"

Vera saw her mother standing across from her.

"I came as soon as I heard," said Mrs. Claythorne. "Your father couldn't come; he's at a job interview. And Evelyn has her hands full with a particularly brutal shift."

"I'm so glad you're here," sighed Vera. "It's—_awful, _just _awful_. I tried to save him, but—and now I have to retell this in front of all these people and—"

"Don't talk," said Mrs. Claythorne gently. "Just relax. And remember, you're a hero. You risked your life to save that boy, and I'm very proud of you. It just makes your father and I all the more proud to say you're our daughter."

Vera suddenly felt somewhat queasy, but she smiled and said, "Thank you."

Mrs. Claythorne smiled and left her daughter to think.

Vera sighed and sat down on a nearby bench. Soon, the queasy feeling passed. Then, Mrs. Hamilton came along and sat down on the bench next to Vera. "How are you holding up, dear?" she asked gently.

Vera made herself recall one of the saddest moments of her life and said in a quivery voice, "Oh, it was just _awful,_ Mrs. Hamilton! I tried to rescue him, I—I really did, but I got distracted for a second and—oh my God! I don't deserve to live! I'm such an awful person!" She broke down in pretend sobs and buried her head in Mrs. Hamilton's shoulder.

Mrs. Hamilton wrapped her arms around Vera and said in the same gentle voice, "There, there, dear. It's not your fault. Cyril was a puny child; I don't suppose he would've lived to grow up anyway." She sounded as though she was saying this more to herself than to Vera, but she went on: "The least you can do is learn from this mistake: If you ever take another child down to the seashore with you ever again, you'll remember to watch him or her closely, won't you?"

Vera nodded, the sad memory still in mind so the tears would keep coming.

Mrs. Hamilton pulled out some tissues, held them up to Vera's nose, and said, "Here blow into this tissue."

Vera took it and blew hard.

"That's a good girl," said Mrs. Hamilton gently.

Ironically enough, the sad memory was of Vera first understanding death upon learning of her baby brother dying.

* * *

When the inquest resumed, Vera was relieved to hear the following words escape the Coroner's lips: "I hereby exonerate Vera Claythorne of having anything to do with Cyril Hamilton's death. The mere thought would be malicious accusations against Miss Claythorne's character. She has proven herself to be a courageous, resourceful woman with a great amount of _sang-froid_. Miss Claythorne was wonderful—kept her head—started off swimming after Cyril at once…"

Vera barely paid attention to the rest of what the Coroner was saying. All she could think about now was that this chapter of her life was over; now she could start a new one: Marrying Hugo. As soon as he was done talking, she'd find Hugo and talk to him about how they could get married now. Well, maybe not first things first; perhaps she'd just comfort him over Cyril's death over the next couple of days and then approach him about marriage.

Finally, the Coroner dismissed everyone. Vera got up and looked around for Hugo. She saw him bolt up out of his seat and walk-run. She followed him, but wasn't fast enough; by the time she got out of the building, he was marching far too quickly for her to catch up, and she thought she saw him toss something (a ring?) onto the ground.

And then he disappeared and became another face in the crowd.

* * *

A week came and went. Vera went on with her life in her new home. And still, no sign of Hugo. Sometimes, she'd think she'd seen him, only to realize the man she was looking at was just a stranger.

Another week came and went. At this point, the suspension grew too much for Vera to bear; she sat down at her desk and began writing a letter:

_My dearest Hugo,_

_I know you must be grieving deeply for Cyril's death. I would, too, if someone in my family died, but must we let this come between us? Perhaps this is for the best; after all, you have Cyril's money. We can get married, now. We can get married and start a family. Money will no longer be a problem for us._

_I can't say too much in case this falls into the wrong hands, but please, understand that I did what I did for you. It was all for you. I had myself in mind, yes, but all of it was for you. I hope you can forgive me. I've put my current address on the envelope so you'll know where to find me. You can come see me when you're ready._

_With all my love,_

_Vera_

Vera re-read her letter to make sure everything was perfect and worded properly. When she was sure this would be a letter worth replying to, she put it an envelope, sealed it, wrote Hugo's name and address on the front, as well as the return address on the upper-left corner, and dropped it off at the post office.

"Now be patient," she told herself. "The mail can be slow."

* * *

It was a chilly, snowy day in December. The snow came falling down, gently but quickly. Vera was sitting in her room wrapping up all the presents she had bought for her family this year for Christmas. She was now at the stage where all she had to do was just label each gift.

As Vera labelled Evelyn's gift, she thought, _I wonder how Mrs. Hamilton's holding up?_

This thought startled her, for she hadn't thought about how Mrs. Hamilton felt about the ordeal, but it continued: _This will be her first Christmas without her son in years…and Hugo's first Christmas without his nephew._

Hugo…he _still_ hadn't replied to the letter Vera had sent him. Ever since she sent that letter, she'd lull herself to sleep each night by imagining Hugo showing up on her front doorstep saying that he forgave Vera and asked her to marry him. She would say yes and the two would begin to make out, which would end with them making love for the first time. They'd quickly elope within a week and Vera would discover she was expecting their first child a few weeks later and they'd go off to live somewhere where they and their child would be happy.

Yes, it was a silly, foolish fantasy, but she couldn't help herself.

Much like how her willing to kill an innocent child for Hugo was silly and foolish…but she could've helped herself.

Three sounds began to overlap in Vera's head: Hugo's last words to her, "Goodbye, Vera. I love you."…Cyril's laughter…Mrs. Hamilton's sobs…

Suddenly, Vera was overcome with a particularly strong nausea. She held up one hand to her mouth and ran straight to her bathroom, where her supper ended up in the toilet. When she was done, she slowly got up shaking and made her way back to her bedroom. There was a stomach flu going around, but she knew it wasn't that. It was the full realization of what she had done.

_What have I done?_

"Cyril might've been looking forward to Christmas this year," Vera softly whispered to herself.

_What have I done?_

"Hugo knows," whispered Vera. "He _knows._"

_What have I done?_

"Mrs. Hamilton loved Cyril. He was probably her reason for waking up every morning after her husband died," Vera realized.

_What have I done?_

"WHAT HAVE I _DONE?!_" shrieked Vera.

She threw herself down on her bed and began sobbing—and these were real sobs, sobs of regret, not the fake sobs she had emitted. All the remorse she had drained herself of, all the guilt she had suppressed was finally setting in.

She had cruelly cut Cyril's life short for selfish reasons. She couldn't fool herself any longer by convincing herself she had _Hugo's_ best interests at heart. She was thinking of _herself,_ only herself.

Hugo wasn't coming back for her. He wasn't going to show up on her doorstep and ask for her forgiveness. He knew what had happened…and never wanted to speak to Vera again for as long as he lived.

Vera had regretted a lot of things. She regretted sniffing the lilacs for too long and getting stung on the nose. She regretted saying a naughty word in front of her parents and relatives. And she regretted being unnecessarily cruel to a close friend of hers. But she had _never, never_ deeply regretted or wished she had taken back something as much as this.

"I'm sorry, Cyril," she sobbed. "I'm so sorry!"

Vera continued to cry and shake uncontrollably. She gazed out the window, the frost on the window reminding her of the painful melting frost she felt in her soul.


	14. 1936

**1936**

"_Really Miss Claythorne? Can I really?"_

"_Of course. You can go to the rock, Cyril. Just remember: This is to be our little secret."_

"_You know a lot about secrets, don't you, Vera?" Cyril's voice had suddenly changed to Hugo's voice._

_Vera felt herself turn pale. "Hugo?" she whispered._

_One of Cyril's arms suddenly reached out and grabbed Vera by the throat, lifted her into the air, and tossed her into the sea, where the cruel sea dragged her down into its depths. She tried to fight against it and swim back up to the surface, but it was no use; she slowly drowned…drowned…drowned_

BRR-RING!

Vera's eyes flew open at the sound of her alarm clock reminding her to wake up. She turned the alarm clock off and slowly got out of bed. It was a rather cold day in February and she was supposed to go to Dursley Primary School for an interview. She didn't hold out much hope, of course; she had already tried to find a decent teaching job at two other schools last month and failed because of her coroner's inquest. The fact that she had been acquitted of all blame didn't matter; what mattered was that she had been inquired at all, period!

Vera changed into her best professional clothes, shivering, but from the fright of her nightmare moreso than the cold. The nightmares had started shortly after Christmas, so she was used to it, though she missed the nights when she slept soundly. Oh, she still had those nights, but it would be nice if those came more often than the nightmares.

Vera didn't have much time for breakfast, as she had set her alarm rather late, so she resolved to have a bite to eat when she got there.

* * *

As expected, she didn't get the job.

The walk home was two things: Gloomy and miserable. This day in February was Valentines Day, so everywhere Vera went, she saw a happy couple whispering sweet nothings to one another or just observing their surroundings while caressing each other, painfully reminding Vera of her first kiss with Hugo exactly one year ago.

Vera began to cross a bridge. She stopped when she got to the middle and gazed down at the icy water. The ice was getting thinner. She began to wonder what it might feel like if she were to toss herself from this bridge and plunge into the icy depths below…

No. There were too many people nearby—people who might try to stop her. And besides, she wouldn't feel _just_ the water, she'd also feel the sharp edges of the ice digging deep into her skin…

Vera sighed and continued to take the gloomy walk home.

* * *

Vera's twenty-second birthday came and went, though she didn't really notice or care to notice. She only realized she was a year older when Evelyn came by and apologized for the belated birthday gift (some new records) from her family.

What Vera _really_ wanted was a sign that Hugo still loved her and wanted to get back together with her. Maybe then the suicidal thoughts would stop. She couldn't look at a bottle of pills without thinking what it would feel like if she took one too many. She couldn't hold a knife for chopping foods without wondering how much blood would come out if she were to press it to her wrists and dig it in deeply. And she couldn't cross a bridge without contemplating jumping right off it.

One summer day, Vera was visited by her mother. "I just thought I'd drop by and see how you're doing," said Mrs. Claythorne cheerfully.

"Oh, hello," muttered Vera. "I made some tea that was just going to be for myself, but since you're here…"

Vera and her mother began to have some tea together. Mrs. Claythorne kept jabbering away about how Mr. Claythorne was still looking for a new job, but was contemplating opening up his own business, but Vera barely paid attention. She just kept stirring the milk in her tea, gazing deeply into it.

Finally, Mrs. Claythorne said, "Sweetie, you look depressed. What's wrong?"

"Nothing, mother," muttered Vera.

"No, something's wrong, I can tell," said Mrs. Claythorne. "Is it Hugo?"

Vera stopped stirring and lay her spoon down on her napkin.

"I know getting over your first love can be hard," said Mrs. Claythorne gently. "But you can't let it ruin your life, dearest. It's been almost a year. Why don't you come live with your father and me for a while?"

Vera shook her head. "Thank you for offering, but I'll be _fine_, mother, really, I will."

Mrs. Claythorne gave Vera an apologetic smile and said, "I'd best be off. Your father's expecting me."

Mrs. Claythorne got up and left. Vera sat there—and cried.

* * *

Vera woke up the next morning to the motion of being rocked back and forth. She slowly opened her eyes—and saw Evelyn standing above her, rocking her back and forth.

"What are _you_ doing here?" muttered Vera.

"Never lend the spare key to your sister," replied Evelyn. "I got a phone call from mother last night. She said you're as miserable as a snail in a salt shaker, so I'm here to get you out of that salt shaker and out into the world! Now get up! We'll have a girl's day out shopping, just the two of us!"

"Leave me alone in my salt shaker," muttered Vera.

But Evelyn refused to let up. She continued to rock Vera before she resorted to pulling until she pulled Vera out of her bed and onto the floor.

"Okay, okay, I'm up; let me get dressed," muttered Vera.

* * *

By the afternoon, Vera's attitude had changed. It seemed as though her girl's day out with Evelyn was doing her some good.

"I _still_ can't believe the Murder in the Calais Coach!" exclaimed Vera, discussing some of the murder cases to make the papers from a few years ago.

"I agree," said Evelyn. "The only person even sneakier was that person from ten years ago—the Murder of Roger Ackroyd?"

As the two young women made their way through town, talking and laughing, Vera heard the laugh of a little boy. She stopped and slowly turned to see a little boy who resembled Cyril from the back.

No, not _resembled_; _was_.

"Cyril?" whispered Vera. Then, a grin spread across her face and she called out, "Cyril! Cyril, come back, Cyril!"

Cyril hadn't drowned after all! He had only gotten lost at sea! That had to be it! She wasn't a child murderess after all!

"Cyril, wait up!" shouted Vera, who began to move forward, but Evelyn kept pulling her back and saying firmly, "Vera, _no._ You're making a public fool of yourself."

Vera pushed Evelyn off of her and ran right up to the little boy, her eyes not once straying away from him. At last! Now Vera could take the boy back to the Hamilton manor and show Mrs. Hamilton that her son was still alive and Hugo would forgive her and marry her!

Finally, Vera caught up to the little boy, spun him around to face her, and gave him a hug. "Oh, Cyril, you don't know how worried I've been!" she said. "I'm so glad you didn't drown after all and only got lost at sea!"

"What do you think you're doing?" snapped a man, who pulled the boy off of Vera.

Now that Vera got a good look at the boy's face, she realized the boy was _not_ Cyril and didn't even closely resemble him from the front.

"Oh," said Vera, her face growing hot. "Oh! Sir, I am _so_ sorry, sir! I thought your little boy was…" Her voice faltered as she felt everyone's eyes prick into her. "Never mind," she muttered. She slowly got to her feet and made her way back to Evelyn, trying to ignore the stares.

"How about I take you home now?" suggested Evelyn. "I think we've had enough fun for one day."

* * *

Vera was silent during the drive home, only speaking once she and Evelyn went through the front door.

"You all right?" asked Evelyn.

Vera shook her head and burst into tears. Evelyn gently wrapped her arms around Vera and comforted her.

"Oh, Evelyn, it's just _awful!_" Vera sobbed. "Not a day goes by where I don't think about Hugo or Cyril! Sometimes—sometimes I feel I'd be better off _dead!_"

Vera suddenly felt Evelyn take her by the shoulders, bring herself to face her, and firmly say, "Vera, _never_ think like that _ever_ again. When you get to the end of your rope, make a knot and _hang_ on. I know it's hard for you, but you can talk to me about Cyril's drowning. Anytime you need me, I'll be there."

Well, it _was_ getting to be too much for Vera to bear, so she supposed she could talk to Evelyn about _some_ aspects of Cyril's drowning, but the _truth?_ No way. Not even _Evelyn_ would understand. In fact, the mere thought of anyone in her family knowing the truth made Vera feel slightly nauseous. Her parents and Evelyn were proud to associate themselves with her, and she intended to keep it that way.

So it would be _parts_ of the truth, but not the _entire_ truth. "Can we talk now?" asked Vera.

Vera was now beginning to understand the saying, "The truth hurts, but ignorance is bliss."


	15. 1938

**1938**

Vera silently but anxiously ate the chicken presented to her. It was Valentines Day, but it wasn't like any other Valentines Day that began with Vera walking down the streets noticing other couples and thinking back to the day she and Hugo shared their first kiss, and ending with her crying herself to sleep, thinking about what this year's Valentines Day might've been like if she hadn't killed Cyril (as it had been for the past two years). No, this Valentines Day was different. Earlier that day, she had received a phone call from Evelyn insisting that she come over for supper tonight, for she had some exciting news. Now here she was, sitting around the dinner table at Evelyn's house with her family and Richard's family.

"Evelyn, this chicken is delicious!" said Mrs. Claythorne. "It's the best you've ever cooked it."

Evelyn put down her fork. "What are you saying?" she said sharply. "Are you saying I _can't_ cook chicken at all, that I'm doomed to forever make awful foods?"

"No, of course not," said Mrs. Claythorne quickly. She turned to Vera. "Vera, you've been as quiet as a church mouse all evening. Why don't you say something?"

Vera decided to say something: "All right, I will: Why don't you just _tell_ us what this exciting news is already?"

"Well, everyone is almost done eating, so I suppose I will," said Evelyn. "Everyone? Richard and I have most exciting news." Then her voice grew emotional and her eyes brimmed with tears: "Isn't this wonderful? Isn't having the entire family sitting here wonderful? Isn't life in general wonderful?"

A grin slowly spread across Mrs. Claythorne's face. "I think I know what it is," she said.

"You're right, mother," said Evelyn, smiling and crying at the same time. "I'm pregnant."

Everyone started speaking at once: "Well, congratulations!" "Oh, this is just wonderful!" "How far along are you?" Everyone, that is, except Vera, who only sat there with two conflicting emotions: On the one hand, she was happy for Evelyn and excited about becoming an Aunt; on the other, she was jealous and wished that it had been herself and Hugo who were gathering their families to make such a joyful announcement.

Evelyn raised one hand to get everyone to settle down. "I found out two weeks ago after seeing my doctor," she said. "Richard and I were both _thrilled_. He wanted to tell as many people as he could right away, but I wanted to wait a little bit in case something went wrong. We finally settled on a compromise: We'd tell you all on Valentines Day." Once again, her eyes brimmed with tears and spilled over as she spoke: "I'm so happy about becoming a mother and to have you all here on this beautiful evening—oh, I don't know why I'm crying!"

"It's because of the hormones, dear," said Mrs. Claythorne gently. "I got the same way when I was pregnant with you, Vera, and your baby brother, may his soul rest in peace."

"Oh, you had a son who died?" said Mrs. Barclay. "I'm really sorry to hear that, Clara." To Evelyn, she said, "But don't worry; I'm sure your child will be born healthy and happy."

Vera was surprised to hear Mrs. Barclay being supportive. She expected her to ask if Richard was the father, but she was being perfectly reasonable (though she didn't expect it to last).

"Well, Vera?" said Evelyn. "Aren't you excited about becoming an Auntie?"

"Oh, yes, yes, I am," said Vera quickly.

"She just wishes that was her and Richard," remarked Mrs. Barclay.

_Not quite, Mrs. Barclay; not quite__,_ thought Vera, bracing herself for the impending argument.

* * *

Once everyone else was gone, after having said their angry words, Vera stuck around to talk to Evelyn.

"It's not that I'm _not_ happy for you, I really am," assured Vera. "And I really look forward to having a little niece or nephew to play with. It's just…well…"

"You wish it was you and Hugo," finished Evelyn.

"Right," sighed Vera.

"For once, Judy actually came close to being right about something," remarked Evelyn. "To tell you the truth, being pregnant isn't all _that_ fun. I'm sick every morning, my breasts hurt, and I can smell everything. I wish I could just lay an egg and wait for it to hatch. Believe me, you can wait! And besides, I don't think it would've been a happy marriage anyway if Hugo thought you deliberately caused his nephew's death when you _know_ you didn't."

Perhaps Evelyn was right on both accounts. Still, Vera wasn't entirely convinced it would've been all that bad of a marriage. "I'm sure we'd be happier once Hugo stopped blaming me," said Vera.

Evelyn shook her head. "No, I don't think you would've been happy even then."

Vera decided to change the subject: "So, when do you suppose Mrs. Barclay will start asking who the father is?"

"Knowing her, probably right after she sees me just _talking_ to another man in public," smiled Evelyn.

* * *

Vera's twenty-fourth birthday came and went and soon, it was Evelyn's birthday: April fourteenth. And this year, Vera was planning on throwing a surprise birthday party for Evelyn, as well as a surprise baby shower.

"Okay, everybody, she's almost here," called out Vera as she hid behind one of the dining room chairs and turned out the lights.

The sound of keys being inserted into the doorknob was heard and the door slowly opened…

Everyone leaped out from where they were hiding, turned on the lights, and shouted "SURPRISE!"

Evelyn (who, being four and a half months pregnant, now looked the part) stood there in shock. Vera held her breath. Did Evelyn like it, or did she hate it? Was this a mistake?

"Um, uh…" said Evelyn. She gulped and smiled, her eyes getting a bit misty. Finally, she managed to choke out, "Can I _cry?_"

Vera and everyone else clapped, because this meant that she liked it.

"You guys, I—I don't know what to say except—thank you," said Evelyn, the tears now pouring over.

* * *

After about fifteen minutes into the baby shower/birthday party, Vera had something to say to Evelyn, so she took her aside into her bedroom.

"There are four names I'd rather you _not_ use, because those names will go to my own children someday," said Vera. "They are Cyril and Peter for a boy, and Cyrilla and Christine for a girl."

"Cyril and Cyrilla are after Cyril Hamilton, I assume?" asked Evelyn.

Vera nodded.

"Well, if it'll help you deal with Cyril's death, then go ahead and use those names," said Evelyn. "It's a very sweet gesture and I'm sure Cyril would appreciate it, so I'll put those names aside."

"Have you and Richard picked out any names yet, by the way?" asked Vera.

"Yes, but they could change," sighed Evelyn. "Richard and I have been looking at various names ever since we found out, but during the first few weeks, we just couldn't agree on a name! He likes Arthur, I like Harry. He wants Winfred, I want Emma. So far, we've agreed on Derek for a boy and Ann for a girl, though all that could change."

"More importantly, does Mrs. Barclay approve of those names?" asked Vera.

"First of all, I don't know how many times I have to tell you this, but _I'm_ Mrs. Barclay now and Richard's family has joined our family, so call her _Judy,_" said Evelyn. "I know you don't like her; she drives me insane, too, but she's still family. You don't have to be nice to her; you just have to be civil. It'll show her how wrong she was about you and she'll eventually warm up to you. Just be thankful you didn't have to grow up with her. And second, although Judy is being almost as big a nuisance about this as she was about the wedding, she's actually been reasonably well-behaved about all this and she hasn't asked who the father is yet."

Vera suddenly remembered where she had hidden her present: "I just remembered where I put my present." She bent down and pulled out a package from underneath the bed. She handed it over to Evelyn. Evelyn slowly unwrapped the package, opened the box—and pulled out the following items, all of which were knitted: pastel yellow-and-green hat, a pair of cornflower blue socks, and a multi-coloured blanket.

Evelyn started crying all over again. "Oh, Vera," she said emotionally. "Thank you!"

The two sisters shared a sentimental hug before going back out. Vera found that by supporting her sister instead of brooding about her jealousy, she was slowly beginning to feel better bit by bit.

* * *

It was a lukewarm morning on September the third when Vera decided to go for an early-morning walk with Evelyn, who looked as though she was carrying a basketball underneath her lavender maternity dress. The multi-coloured leaves flew through the air in a tumble of colours.

"So, are you excited about your first official teaching job coming up?" asked Evelyn.

During the summer, Vera had once again searched for a teaching job, unconfident that this search would be worth something, but was surprised when a third-class all-girls school accepted her as the games mistress. The pay was little, but it was better than nothing at all. She was to start on the following Monday.

"I feel as though I'm about to go on a rather large rollercoaster," confessed Vera. "Excited _and_ nervous."

"I know the feeling," said Evelyn. "That's how I felt when I got my first job at the local hospital, when I got married, _and_ when I found out I was pregnant. But I think it'll all be worth it. You've always wanted to be a teacher, right?"

"Right," said Vera.

"But your last teaching-related job didn't go too well," said Evelyn.

"Evelyn!" gasped Vera. "Don't even _joke!_"

"Sorry," apologized Evelyn. "I forgot. Even though you're getting better, it's still a touchy subject for you. But I'm sure that this job will go slightly better." She suddenly stopped walking and the happy look on her face fell.

"What is it?" asked Vera.

"Nothing," Evelyn shook her head.

The two women began to walk again, but then Evelyn stopped and leaned forward.

"Evelyn, are you all right?" asked Vera, turning around.

That was when she noticed the puddle of water right below Evelyn's legs.

* * *

"AAAAAAHHHHH!"

Six hours later, Evelyn was in the maternity ward giving birth in her room. Vera's parents, Richard's parents, and Richard had arrived, but none of them were allowed to go in, so they stood outside in the hall, shouting words of encouragement.

"Keep going, honey; I know _exactly_ how you feel," shouted Mrs. Claythorne. "I had to do it three times!"

"YOU THINK I _DON'T_ KNOW THAT?! AAAAAHHHH!" shrieked Evelyn.

Vera winced. Evelyn did _not_ sound like she was having fun at all. Suddenly, she could wait for the day she became a mother.

There were several more screams and grunts, and then a brief silence…which was broken by a baby's cry.

Mrs. Claythorne let out a gasp of joy and her hands flew up to her mouth. "It's here," she whispered. "The baby is here."

About two minutes later, the nurse came out holding the now calm, clean baby wrapped up in a blue blanket. "Congratulations, Mr. Barclay," she said, handing the baby over to Richard. "You have a son."

"A son," repeated Richard as he held the pink-faced baby in his arms. A smile spread across his face as he looked down into his son's eyes. "Evelyn and I have a son."

"And we have a grandson," said Mrs. Barclay, gesturing to both herself and her husband, and the Claythornes.

Mrs. Claythorne and Mrs. Barclay shared a hug, and Mr. Claythorne and Mr. Barclay shared a handshake. Vera just stood there, feeling a bit like an outcast. She didn't know _what_ to do. Finally, she said to the nurse, "May I come in?"

"Oh, of course," said the nurse quickly. She opened the door for Vera and she walked in. Vera sat in a chair next to an exhausted-looking Evelyn. "How are you feeling?" asked Vera.

"Try pushing something the size of a watermelon out of an opening the size of a lemon, and see how _you_ feel," snapped Evelyn. Then, she relaxed. "This whole thing doesn't even feel _real._ I've been looking forward to having a baby with Richard ever since we got married and—here we are. Did you get a chance to hold him yet?"

"No, not yet," said Vera. She paused. "Since it's a boy, are you and Richard still going to call him Derek?"

"Yes," said Evelyn. "Derek and Ann were the only names we could agree on, so yes—his name will be Derek Richard Barclay."

"Derek Richard Barclay," mused Vera. "I like that."

Just then, the two parents and Richard came in. Mrs. Claythorne was the one holding Derek, making baby talk to him. She noticed Vera standing there. "Oh, I'm sorry, Vera, you didn't get a chance to hold him yet," apologized Mrs. Claythorne. "Would you like to hold him?"

Vera stretched out her arms, and the bundle of joy was carefully put into them. Vera held Derek with as much support as she could and looked deep into his eyes.

_If life went my way, you'd be mine and Hugo's,_ thought Vera, but then a more cheerful thought came to mind: _I'm an Aunt, and you're my nephew._

"Hi there, sweetie," said Vera softly. "It's your Auntie Vera. You remember me, right?"

Clearly, Derek did, because he turned to the sound of her voice. He looked as though he was wondering who these strange people were.

"Would you like your mummy to hold you now?" asked Vera. She handed Derek over to Evelyn.

Evelyn looked into Derek's eyes and started to smile and cry at the same time. "He's so beautiful," she said softly.

Vera got up and allowed Richard to sit in the chair. She stood back and watched Evelyn and Richard talk to Derek and make funny faces at him to see if he'd copy.

Would that be herself and Hugo now? Would that be where she and Hugo would be if she hadn't killed Cyril and just waited for him to die a natural death—would they be married with a child of their own?

_What's done is done,_ thought Vera. _That was a long time ago! I will not think of Hugo or Cyril if I can help it!_

Fortunately, her brief pang of envy did not ruin the beautiful moment.


	16. 1939

**1939**

"Do you think she's awake?"

"No, we'd better let her sleep some more."

"Even if she is, maybe we should wake her up."

"Shush!"

Vera had indeed been woken up by the chatter outside her bedroom. She knew the voices belonged to her family, though she wasn't sure why they were outside her room. Besides, she felt tired, so she closed her eyes and tried to go back to sleep, but that plan was ruined when the door slowly creaked open and the sound of footsteps marched into her room. Then, _"For she's a jolly good fellow, for she's a jolly good fellow…"_

Vera picked up her pillow and tried to cover her ears, but the singing continued: _"For she's a jolly good fell-ooow…which nobody can deny…which nobody can deny…which nobody can deny…"_

Finally, Vera decided to give in. She sat up and smiled at the sight of her mother bringing in her birthday cake on a tray.

Of course! Today was her birthday—March fifteenth. And it was her twenty-fifth birthday to be precise. How could she have forgotten?

"…_for she's a jolly good fell-ooow…which nobody can deny!"_ finished off Mrs. Claythorne, her husband, and Evelyn, who was holding a confused, six-month-old Derek.

"Make a wish, honey," encouraged Mrs. Claythorne, as she always did whenever Vera was about to make a wish on her birthday cake.

Vera knew instantly what she wanted: _I wish to fall in love again._ She blew out the candles.

* * *

"I can't believe you actually got Derek up for _this,_ when he's too young to understand it!" laughed Vera as she had breakfast with her family all around her.

"Well, he _is_ your nephew, so he's obligated to come to your birthday parties," pointed out Evelyn, who was feeding Derek breakfast while wearing a shawl to cover up her nursing.

"So, how's your job at St. Elizabeth's?" asked Mrs. Claythorne.

"Oh, it's going quite well so far," replied Vera. "The girls are reasonably well-behaved and the other teachers treat me with dignity. I do wish the pay was better, though. I mean, I know I'm lucky to have even _this,_ considering…"

Mrs. Claythorne could tell Vera was veering into a touchy subject, so she changed it: "Have you met a new man who catches your eye?"

"No, not yet," sighed Vera. "I'm _trying_ my best to move on, I really am; I just haven't met _the_ right man yet."

"Why waste your time searching for another man?" asked Mr. Claythorne. "I'm telling you, swear off men for life, forget everything your mother told you about babies and so forth, and become a nun."

"Ah, don't listen to your father," said Mrs. Claythorne playfully. "I want at least a dozen grandchildren."

"Then Vera had better find another man soon, because two will be my limit," said Evelyn, who stopped feeding Derek and just held him over her shoulder.

"You're pregnant _again?_" asked Mr. Claythorne.

"Oh no, not yet, and certainly not for another few years," said Evelyn quickly. "I'm still recovering from the _first_ one, thank you very much! I'll wait at least three or four years before giving Derek a brother or sister, and that's it. If Richard and I have an 'accident', we'll certainly keep that one, but another _planned_ one after the second one? No, I don't think so. Don't get me wrong," she said quickly. "I love Derek with all my heart and don't regret having him. It's just that being pregnant was so overwhelming for me, I'm not sure if I could do it more than two times."

At that moment, who should come through the front door, but Fleta in a red dress, looking absolutely ecstatic! "So sorry I'm late," apologized Fleta. "Matthew's baby-sitter arrived a bit late."

"You look like you're on top of the world," remarked Vera.

"I know it's _your_ special day, Vera, but may I make an important announcement?" asked Fleta.

"Sure," said Vera.

Fleta cleared her throat and announced: "You know that guy I've been seeing for the past five years—Avon Emlyn? Well, we were in Paris a few days ago, and he proposed to me right underneath the Eiffel tower, and I said yes!"

It was now that Fleta stretched out her left hand to show her sparkling, 200-karat diamond ring.

"Congratulations!" said Vera. "I'm so happy for you!"

And really, she was. She no longer felt even a pang of envy whenever she heard of happy couples being engaged to be married.

"The wedding will be on the sixteenth of October," Fleta went on. "And I would like Evelyn and Vera to have the honour of being my bridesmaids!"

"Oh, we'd _love_ to!" said Evelyn.

"What's his family like?" asked Mr. Claythorne. "They're not like Richard's parents, are they?"

"Oh no, they're not the _slightest_ bit like Richard's parents," laughed Fleta. "They're pretty easygoing, actually."

"Oh, thank God," sighed Mrs. Claythorne.

"How does Matthew like him?" asked Evelyn.

"Matthew _adores_ him," replied Fleta. "I'm glad, because he needs a stable father figure in his life now that he's getting older. He never knew his father, so he's really excited about getting a daddy."

"Dada! Dada! Dada!"

Everyone stopped talking and turned to Derek, who was smiling and babbling away, "Dada, dada, dada, dada, dada, dada, dada!"

"Derek, dada is at work drinking with his partners, so could you _please_ learn to say 'mama, mama, mama' instead?" pleaded Evelyn.

But Derek continued to babble "Dada", causing everyone to laugh.

* * *

At around three o'clock in the afternoon, everyone had to leave.

"Avon and I will be in France until September to get to know his family better," said Fleta. "Until then, _au revoir, _Vera!"

"Goodbye, Fleta," said Vera.

"Oh, I almost forgot," said Mr. Claythorne. "I'll be in London for a little while to get my own business set up there. I might move it to the country so I can be closer to your mother, but we'll see how it goes." He gave his daughter a hug. "Goodbye, sweetie."

"Goodbye, father," said Vera, hugging back just as tightly.

Mr. Claythorne smiled and left.

Mrs. Claythorne said, "Your father _might_ come back in August, but someone has to stay home and tend to the house, so…" She hugged Vera tightly and whispered, "Goodbye, Vera. I hope you have better luck in finding the man of your dreams."

"Goodbye, mother," said Vera. "I love you and father; let him know that, okay?"

Mrs. Claythorne smiled and followed her husband.

Finally, the only guest to leave was Evelyn. She said, "Well, Vera, anytime you need to talk, you know where to find me." She wrapped one arm around Vera to hug her while supporting Derek with the other. "See you later."

"Goodbye, Evelyn," said Vera.

As Evelyn walked out the door, Vera called out, "Goodbye, Derek!"

To that, Derek just squealed, "Dada!"

* * *

Every summer, ever since Cyril's drowning, Vera would try to get a holiday post as a secretary to keep herself busy. She hadn't much luck so far; even the agency hadn't held out much hope.

On this particular day in July, Vera went to her mailbox to collect the mail. She went back inside her house to sort through the mail. Bill…bill…wait, what was this?

Vera put the other envelopes down on the counter and took a closer look. The return address was Indian Island…

Indian Island! Why, there had been nothing else in the papers lately!

Vera opened up the envelope (and took the five pound note with it), sat down in a chair, and read the letter:

_I have received your name from the Skilled Women's Agency together with their recommendation. I understand they know you personally. I shall be glad to pay you the salary you ask and shall expect you to take up your duties on August 8__th__. The train is the 12:40 from Paddington and you will be met at Oakbridge station. I enclose five pound notes for expenses._

_Yours truly,_

_Una Nancy Owen_

Well! Just when she had given up hope for the summer!

Excited, Vera went to write about this in her diary, which she hadn't written in for quite some time. She opened it up and skimmed through the pages. As she read her old passages, the ones where she was planning Cyril's murder, she suddenly felt an urge to vomit, but was able to hold it down. When she finally got to a blank spot, she began writing. When she was done with her passage, she tore out the pages she had already written on and tossed them straight into the fireplace.

Her main new year's resolution had been to leave her past behind and look towards the future, which was exactly what she intended to do.

_And above all else, I will __**not**__ think of Hugo, or Cyril's drowning if I can help it!_Vera firmly resolved.

For a moment, Vera contemplated calling up her mother or Fleta to tell them about her job, but decided it wasn't necessary; after all, it was only a holiday post! She did, however, call up Evelyn, for the eighth of August was the day they were supposed to take a train to France to meet Fleta and go shopping for bridesmaids dresses the day after their arrival.

"Wow, I'm really glad you finally got a summer job!" was Evelyn's reaction. "I suppose I'll have to call up Fleta and tell her to change the date."

"You could always go without me," said Vera.

"Oh no, I want us to do this together," said Evelyn quickly. "I'll just tell Fleta to postpone the dress fittings for now and wait until you're back so we can arrange a more convenient date. I do, however, want to spend a bit more quality time with you before you go. When did you say you are to go again?"

* * *

The eighth of August had finally arrived. Evelyn took Vera to the Oakbridge station. The two women stood there for a minute or two before Vera said, "Well…we have a bit of time, but I want to get on the train anyway just in case something goes wrong."

"You should," said Evelyn. She paused and gave Vera a hug. "Goodbye, Vera," she whispered.

Vera smiled and said, "Goodbye, Evelyn," before separating. She walked up to the train, gave Evelyn one last wave, and boarded the 12:40 from Paddington.


	17. Postmortem

**Postmortem**

_On September first, 1939, Adolph Hitler declared war on Europe. On August eighth, 1939, a war of our own was declared by a scathing gramophone record._

_I didn't think that when I said goodbye to Evelyn before boarding the train__—__or that when I said goodbye to Fleta and my parents on my birthday as they left— that it would be goodbye forever. I just thought it would be a standard holiday post. Oh, was I wrong. When we all arrived at Indian Island, it left me with a chill that went up and down my spine. Perhaps it was because the sea reminded me too greatly of Cyril…and Hugo…I willed myself strongly not to think of Hugo, but it was no good. I had to remember._

_Perhaps it was because that after Anthony Marston's death, Hugo served as a security blanket to me. I'd keep thinking of the events that led up to my murdering Cyril. I'd think of Hugo explaining the situation to me, of Cyril's irritating protests, and__—__and of how I gave into these protests and allowed him to swim, and for what? So __**Hugo**__ could marry the woman he loved? No…I did it so __**I**__ could marry the man I loved. Selfish, selfish me. Had I known how much pain it would cause Mrs. Hamilton, or Hugo, or even me, would I still have done it? Perhaps not. But it never occurred to me as I planned it out that Cyril was a human being, a child whom Mrs. Hamilton cared deeply about. No, to me, Cyril was just a pawn in my plan to marry Hugo._

_Much like how I was a pawn in the murderer's plan to drive me insane so I could complete his 'masterpiece'. I suppose the judge and I were alike in at least one way: To us, our murder victims weren't people; no, they were pawns that could easily be manipulated into doing our every bidding. How bitter irony hurts._

_I had never felt so scared for my life as I had that weekend. It was the weekend from hell. Every bite, every sip, every step that I took, I kept wondering if it would be my last. Even when I locked my door at night, I still didn't feel safe. There was always the possibility that the murderer would try to enter through the window. Then again, I suppose that's exactly what the judge intended: He killed his victims according to guilt. Those whose guilt was lightest went first and didn't undergo the mental torture I faced, which was why I died last. He wanted me to suffer the most so that when he set up that trap for me, I'd gladly take it._

_I wasn't even human at that point. I had become another animal in the zoo…just like Mr. Blore and Philip. When Mr. Blore was killed, Philip and I both assumed Dr. Armstrong must've done it…and then we saw his drowned body on the beach. I should've realized Philip couldn't be the murderer if he had been standing right there with me when Mr. Blore was killed. But no…my animal mind wouldn't allow me to use human logic. I thought that since Philip and I were the only ones left, and since I certainly hadn't killed anyone on the island, that it had to be Philip. And so, I acted upon my newly found animal instincts: I tricked Philip into helping me drag Dr. Armstrong's body out of the water and while we did so, I pickpocket his revolver. When the silly ass turned around, there I was, facing him with his revolver. He hesitated at first, asking me to give it back to him. I laughed. Did he really think I was stupid? And then he leaped, forcing me to shoot. I stood there for about a minute or two before I realized Philip was dead._

_When I realized this, I felt enormous, exquisite relief. At last it was over. There was no more fear—no more steeling of my nerves. That I was alone with nine dead bodies didn't matter. All that mattered was that there was no more fear. I didn't move until the sun began to set. I realized then that I was hungry and sleepy. Principally sleepy. I wanted to throw myself on my bed and sleep and sleep and sleep until help arrived. Even then, I was perfectly happy staying there, now that I was safe. I thought about how strange fear was and how I had used my quick wits to turn the tables on my would-be destroyer. What I didn't realize was that my true destroyer was already in the house, waiting for me to come._

_I felt sheer exhaustion as I walked up to the house, having gotten little to no sleep the night before. For a brief moment, I thought I was going to collapse before I even made it the house! When I got to the house, I briefly contemplated getting something to eat, but I was too tired even then. So, I went to the dining room. I noticed there were still three little Indian boys there, so I broke off two of them and took the last one with me upstairs. I kept thinking that Hugo was in my bedroom waiting for me. Oh, Hugo…you never were gone. No matter how many times I tried to tell myself that you were gone, that you weren't waiting for me, you were always there in my mind. I didn't feel alone in the house, no matter how quiet it was. I suppose I would've fainted had I realized that my instincts were right, that there was only one other person in the house with me—the murderer!_

_When I got to my room…what I saw made me gasp out loud. There was a noose and a chair all set up for me. During the times I felt suicidal after murdering Cyril, I never even thought of hanging myself. I thought of all the other suicide methods, but never hanging. Perhaps it was because I associated hanging with criminals. And that's what I was—a criminal. I wasn't the hero everyone else (save Hugo) made me out to be. I was a murderess. A child murderess, to be exact._

_It's a funny word…murder. I used to think murder was strangling someone, or shooting them. It never occurred to me that murder could be words. I had killed Cyril the moment I said the seven deadly words: "You can go to the rock, Cyril." That's what the murder was! As easy as that! But afterwards…afterwards, I went on remembering._

_I had already realized what I had done was murder a long time ago, but it wasn't until that moment that I truly accepted it. I suppose that if I, along with anyone else on Indian Island, survived, we would've come back as changed people. Experiences like that can completely change a person's entire perception on life and thus change them, whether it's for the better or for the worse. Had I survived, I might've changed for the better. I might've realized how Hugo was taking over my life and that I should seek professional help…but sadly, everything that could've been vanished the moment I saw the noose and the chair._

_Did I think that my parents would be weeping for me as my feet moved across the floor? Did I think that Evelyn would be an emotional wreck as I climbed onto the chair? Did I think that Fleta would be crushed that I would no longer be able to attend her wedding as I put my head through the noose? Did I think that Hugo would want me to live as I adjusted the noose around my neck? No, I did not. I was only thinking of me, not how my actions would affect the people around me. I actually thought this was what Hugo wanted me to do and besides, the mental strain from my guilt was becoming too much to bear, to live with. I was being selfish, as I had been when I murdered Cyril._

_It wasn't until I had already kicked away the chair that I suddenly realized that I should wait for the boat to come so I could make amends with Hugo and see my family again, but by then, it was too late. My body quickly lowered and I felt a painful tug at my neck…and then nothing at all._

_Where I am can't exactly be described as Heaven or hell. I am supposedly in Heaven, but watching over my family dealing with my death felt like hell. Had it not been for my mother praying for my safety, I suppose I would've gone straight to hell. So I owe it to her. She prevented me from eternal suffering. And how did I repay her? By forcing her to go through a great amount of suffering that felt like an eternity of suffering._

_Thinking of the day my family was informed of my death makes me sick. A few days after my body, and the other bodies, were taken back to the mainland, my mother, Fleta, and Evelyn each received a telegram, which informed them of my death. It said the same thing as the others did, except with a few words changed each time:_

_**Dear Clara/Fleta Claythorne/Evelyn Barclay,**_

_**We deeply regret to inform you that sometime during the weekend of August the eighth, your daughter/cousin/sister, Vera Elizabeth Claythorne, died by hanging on Indian Island. Details are still sketchy, so we cannot confirm if it was murder or suicide, for nine other victims were found dead as well. Her funeral, as well as the other nine victims' funerals, will be held on August the twenty-second at seven-thirty PM at St. Agatha's church. We offer our deepest sympathies.**_

_The reactions varied, but at the same time, they were all the same. My mother was shaking when she stopped reading the telegram. She kept thinking about all the fun times we shared together as I grew up, including her final goodbye to me on my twenty-fifth birthday, and finally began to cry. It was at this moment that my father came home, saying that it didn't work out in London, so he would try to set up his business here. When he noticed my mother crying, he asked what was wrong. Mother couldn't say it, so she showed my father the telegram. When I was growing up, I always thought of my father as a strong man, someone who could face the tough times head on. But not in that moment. He put the telegram down, looking and feeling like an empty shell. He wrapped his arms around my mother and comforted her, still not feeling anything himself._

_Fleta was in France when she got the telegram. She couldn't believe what it was saying. She kept hoping that, perhaps, someone was playing a sick joke on her. She was interrupted by her thoughts when Matthew came up to her, asking her what was wrong. Realizing that life was short, Fleta held Matthew close and hugged him tightly as though he would die next. Sadly, Fleta could not come to my funeral because on the date, there was a huge rainstorm in Paris that kept her there for another three weeks._

_And Evelyn…oh God, how it hurts even now to think of Evelyn's reaction. She kept going, "No," even though she knew it to be true. Finally, she screamed, "NO!" and completely broke down sobbing. She couldn't take care of Derek that day, so Richard took over. She was an absolute wreck._

_I never wanted to make my family suffer like this, but I did. I wish I hadn't killed myself, that I had convinced myself to wait until the boat arrived and explain it all. But what's done is done._

_The judge's confession was found three days before my funeral. That was when the police sent out a telegram to Hugo that explained everything. They decided to wait until our funerals to read the letter to our friends and families._

_Oh Hugo…to think, I hanged myself because I thought it was what you wanted, only for me to find out it wasn't what you wanted. I should've realized that although you were furious with me for killing Cyril, you could never find it in your heart to hate me._

_On the day of all our funerals, it was a rainy day. Gloomy weather for a gloomy occasion. First, the minister gave his speech about what our lives were like, only he included just the __**good**__ details. For instance, he said Miss Brent was a loyal church attendant who had much belief in our Lord. What he failed to mention was that she was a cold-hearted religious zealot who didn't feel the slightest bit of guilt over poor Beatrice Taylor. And as for me…he said I was a real hero for trying to save Cyril Hamilton. Either this man wasn't shown the confession and thus didn't know the details, or knew better than to speak ill of the dead._

_Second, one of the officers, Inspector Maine, read the judge's confession out loud to everyone in the church, and they all learned the truth. When he got to the part where Hugo told the judge about what I had done, I could feel Hugo's grief and anguish. I know he never meant to cause my going to Indian Island, and I hope he knows I don't hate him for it, like how he never hated me for killing Cyril._

_But my family…words couldn't do justice to describe their feelings about it. I never wanted my family to find out the truth, but now they know. It's funny, you know, because if I were alive, they'd hate me upon finding out, but since I'm dead…_

_It was when they learned how I died that their emotions really started to get rocky: When the deaths began to be read out loud one by one, shrieks and moans of anguish were heard throughout the church by the friends and family members of the other victims. With each death read off, my family would sit there in anxiety, waiting for my death to be read off so they could find out whose hand I was killed by: The judge's, or my own. Neither outcome was cheery to them, for if I was murdered, they'd feel an injustice that the judge got away with what he did, but if I killed myself, they'd never forgive themselves for not reaching out to me sooner; however, I think that deep down they hoped I had been murdered so they could blame someone other than themselves._

_Finally, Inspector Maine came to the last death—my own: "It was an interesting psychological experiment. Would the consciousness of her own guilt, the state of nervous tension consequent on having just shot a man, be sufficient, together with the hypnotic suggestion of the surroundings, to cause her to take her own life? I thought it would. I was right. Vera Claythorne hanged herself before my eyes where I stood in the shadow of the wardrobe."_

_How it broke my heart to read the emotions of my family. My father thought back to when I was a child of two, and heard the following words echo in his ears: _"I don't want to die, Daddy; not ever!" _And my mother heard: _"I promise I'll never die, not for a hundred years." _This was all it took to cause my parents to break down weeping bitterly._

_Evelyn, however, thought back to the day I mentioned I felt I was better off dead, and how she told me I could talk to her if I ever needed her. Suddenly, she knew she could no longer bear to be there one second longer: She let out a wail of despair before getting up and running out of the church. She ran all the way back to the car, where she spent the rest of the service weeping just as bitterly as my parents, if not more so. She kept thinking that she should've been more supportive, that she should've talked to me more often, that she should've talked to me a bit longer before I went on the train, that if she had been there more often than she was I would still be alive._

_Oh, Evelyn. You were more help to me than you'll ever know. And I would've gotten better, really, I would've. But what I went through that weekend would drive even the most life-loving person in the world to take their own life, too. That weekend destroyed my will to live. It destroyed all progress I had made._

_Evelyn could only bring herself to creep into the crowd and watch my coffin slowly be lowered into the ground. Her eyes didn't once leave the spot, not even when it was being filled in. She was only brought back to reality when she heard my father talking to her. He yelled at her that she hadn't shown me any respect at all by just running out during my funeral service, and she yelled back that she had shown me respect by keeping me alive in her thoughts, which was more than he was doing at the moment._

_And I thought the angry words and tears were exchanged during the months leading up to Evelyn's wedding. That day, everyone said things that they wished they could take back. By the time they went home, it was almost midnight, but none of them could sleep. After that, their sleeping habits changed during the next few weeks. My mother didn't get any sleep at all, my father went to bed much earlier than he did and would sleep in until noon, and Evelyn would get only two or three hours of sleep. They were alive, but they weren't truly alive, like me when it was down to Mr. Blore, Philip, and me. There were times where Evelyn considered ending it all and joining me in Heaven, but Derek gave her the will to live. He was her only lifeline._

_My mother once told me, "Everyone has a reason for existing in this world." Derek's reason might have been to cheer my family up during the most depressing time of their lives. When his very first birthday came along, my parents came over to Evelyn's house. Mother looked somewhat happier because she had made a cake for Derek (she always loved to bake). His party brought back some life into them, especially when he had blown out his candle (with the help of his father): For a moment, he stared at the cake as though he wasn't sure what these strange people wanted him to do with it. Then, he scooped up some of the frosting with his hands and smeared it in his hair. He thought it was some fancy hair gel, so he used the frosting to smooth out his hair and stuffed his face with the actual cake. My parents and Evelyn laughed the way they used to laugh before my death. My main regret is that I wasn't there in person to celebrate Derek's first birthday._

_From that moment on, their lives slowly started to get better. They didn't recover overnight, but they made slow, steady progress. First, their sleeping hours started to get back in shape. Then, they all started attending therapy sessions together so they could deal with their feelings. And in what may have been the most important factor of all, they started spending more time together as a family, even with the Barclay's. They knew that they never wanted any more of the family to fall apart._

_As for Fleta, she dealt with my death in her own way (she had been informed of my suicide a few weeks later): She and Avon postponed the wedding and they went off traveling all over Europe with Matthew. She would get some sort of souvenir and pray to me every night, telling me all about the fun she and Avon had. While in Spain, she ran into my Uncle James and Aunt Annemarie, who had heard of my suicide during their vacation. She introduced them to Matthew and they were taken by him as instantly as my father had been. They all moved to Torquay and spent quality time with my family as well._

_Over the next few years, everyone slowly began to build their lives back together. First, once the war started, job opportunities suddenly appeared overnight, giving my father the opportunity to start his own business in a place where he could be closer to the family. He started his own newspaper business and called it the Claythorne Times, and who should be his assistant, but my mother!_

_Evelyn and Richard did eventually have another child: Vera Ann Barclay, who was born on the day Adolph Hitler committed suicide, thus ending the second world war a week later: April 30, 1945._

_Fleta and Avon finally tied the knot on December 7, 1941. They had a happy marriage that resulted in twin girls named Verity and Agatha. Fleta went on to become a fashion designer. Matthew has been accepted into Oxford and will be going there in the fall._

_And what about dear Hugo and Mrs. Hamilton? Hugo found it hard, but he did move on. He married twice; the first marriage resulted in a son named Cyril Ogilvie, but his wife died of pneumonia. His second marriage resulted in a daughter named Vera Elizabeth. Mrs. Hamilton also moved on and married a wealthy tycoon. She had a son named Timothy._

_Ten years have come and gone since my death. And on this day, all of my family has gathered to visit my grave. And from above, I wish them good luck. I shall always visit them in their dreams and will never be gone._

"Is this the place, mummy?" piped up four-year-old Vera Ann Barclay.

Thirty-seven-year-old Evelyn Barclay clutched her daughter's hand tightly. "Yes, dear, this is your Auntie Vera's grave. She's the one you were named after."

"What was she like?" asked ten-going-on-eleven-year-old Derek Barclay.

"She was very lovely," replied Evelyn. "She was also very unhappy. She fell in love, but made a terrible mistake that cost her the man she loved. She felt depressed, but almost got over it…until she killed herself."

The children's grandparents, Clara and Fred Claythorne (both of whom were showing their age in their fifties), stood there before Mrs. Claythorne spoke: "She was an excellent swimmer, much like you, Derek."

"And she loved to read," said Mr. Claythorne.

"I think I remember her," said eighteen-year-old Matthew Emlyn. "I remember seeing her in a large church, and I remember her sometimes playing with me."

"Your cousin and I didn't always get along," confessed thirty-five-year-old Fleta Emlyn, who was the age Vera would be if she were still alive ten years later. "When we first met, I tricked her into saying a naughty word."

"That was you?" said Mrs. Claythorne. "You mean to say I yelled at Warren Mayer's mother for _nothing?_" She couldn't help but laugh in spite of herself.

"What was Auntie Vera's mistake?" asked Derek.

"You'll find out when we get home, dearest," said Evelyn. "Your sister will find out when she's old enough to understand it. And before I tell you, I'll let you know that love can be like alcohol: It can drive you to do incredibly _stupid_ things that you would _never_ do if you were sober. However, it can also be like a guiding light: It can help you get through the bad times and help you see the light." She gave her son a gentle hug. "Your aunt's love for that man drove her to do something horrible, but my love for you helped me deal with her death."

"Pardon me?"

Everyone turned around and saw Hugo standing there.

"I realized a few hours ago what day it was, and I knew I had to come here as quickly as possible," said Hugo. "But my wife was at work and I had to drop my two children off with my sister." He stepped up to Vera's grave and put his flowers on her grave, along with the other flowers her family had placed.

For a moment, everyone stood there. It was not the raining day it had been on the day of the funerals. For once, it was a bright, sunny day that promised hope. The sunlight made the following words easily readable:

**In loving memory**

**Vera Elizabeth Claythorne**

**March 15, 1914—August 11, 1939**

**The tenth little Indian boy**

**THE END**

_Credit Song: __Bring Me To Life__ by Evanescence_

_Quote: I've tried so hard to tell myself that you're gone/But thought you're still with me/I've been alone all along—Amy Lee, __My Immortal__ by Evanescence_

**A/N: (sniff) Wow, this chapter was the saddest, most emotionally intense chapter I've ever written. But I'm satisfied with it. I'm a bit sad to part with this story, though, since writing for Vera was so much fun. Perhaps I'll write more about her in the future. I hope you all had as much fun reading this as I had writing it.**

**PS Thanks to Christie Fan for their suggestion on using the Mary Alice Young narration technique; it really paid off!**


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